#sorry for editing i can’t stop thinking about this and how will left their brother passed out on the floor of his own penthouse

[vqlisms]

i can’t stop thinking about how xavier and alan are going to wake up in their hideout alone. alan stitched back together, xavier torn apart. no answers, no apologies, no anger. xavier is going to ask anyone he knows if they’ve seen a girl with long black hair and purple eyes. alan is going to run about the city after shadows in the corners of his eyes. xavier is going to call and search for any news and beat himself up over injuries he can’t remember receiving. alan is going to wince over incisions that he’s never experienced before. and there’s going to be nothing to show for it. they’re going to exhaust every option they have and there’s going to be nothing to show for it, because it was handled. it was all handled.

sorry edit to add more: don’t think about how despite their differences in ideologies xavier would call will in a fit of desperation because william is the detective, william has contacts that they as vigilantes don’t, william must be able to find something. and william is going to have to listen as xavier asks and begs and pleads for any insight, anything, anything that could explain their sudden injuries and their missing friend, and william is going to have to make a decision. william is going to have to tell xavier that they handled it. that they were no better than their brothers lackeys that alan slaughtered. that they were given the order and they obeyed like a dog. there will be nothing to justify, anymore. because the victims don’t remember and william has killed someone who entrusted them with her name and they handled it perfectly. and what left will there be but for xavier to put them down like the dog that they’ve become.

[jjkbambi]

the morning after luigi mangione x reader (18+)

summary!!! part two of is it new years yet because you do not get back together just cuz he has good dick OMG 🖕🖕🖕🖕😒 he also has a great personality and loves eating pussy

warnings: smut, kinda angsty, he’s manipulative but honestly he’s such a nice guy, you should really give him a second chance

^ not edited let’s alll just practice gratitude 🙏

seven days, thirteen hours, and nine minutes and thirty six seconds.

that’s how long it had been since luigi had seen you. not that he’d been counting, he was truly trying to be normal about the distance this time around.

he replays the morning after on a loop, searching for the slightest hint he’d done something wrong to no avail. as a matter of fact, your quiet body was beside him until deep into the afternoon, nothing but soft snores exchanged between the two of you. he wakes before you, kissing your forehead before taking his leave. his frat brothers whistle at him as he enters the wretchedly messy house, throwing him a water.

“happy new year, big guy,” one of them, hasan, greets. “did’ya spend your night thinking about new goals or scoring the same one?”

luigi rolls his eyes. “fuck off.”

another brother chimes in, bright-eyed. “when are we meeting her?”

“in your dreams.”

he had no intention of sharing you in any way; the thought of anyone else even looking at you irritated him. but starting the new year off by your side was far too great a fate to be stoic about. he grabs a plate of what’s left of their shitty communal breakfast (jar salsa from the night before, scrambled eggs, and two pieces of mostly burnt toast) and brings it into your room.

“y/n,” he calls out while entering. the door to the bathroom is now closed, and he sees your shadow shuffling around the room.

hesitant, the door creaks open. youre back in your black minidress, holding onto your heels. “hey, pretty.”

“hi,” you say tightly, the mistakes and soreness from the night before lingering in your mind. you’ve just wiped away the tears still streaked on your face, yet your ex-boyfriend hardly looks hungover.

“dressed up just for me?” he jokes, kissing your cheek. he offers you the plate of food but you shake your head.

“lacy’s waiting for me. i’ve got to go.”

“stay,” he says, his voice honey-sweet, like the boyfriend you knew months ago. it makes you feel sick, the familiarity of it all suffocating you. the room feels too small.

you push away from him. “i have to go.”

“baby,” he drops everything he’s holding to grab you again. “what’s wrong? is everything alright?”

he always blows your mind with his audacity. “no, everything’s not alright, luigi,” you spit back. “we shouldn’t have—none of that should’ve happened.”

“what do you mean?”

“luigi,” you sigh. “we’re over, alright? it’s done.”

“y/n—”

“i mean it,” you raise your voice so slightly, but still it breaks. “you cheated on me, then pulled all this shit, i can’t do it anymore.”

“you can’t do it anymore? are you serious?”

“yes!”

“you ignored me for weeks then showed up at my fucking party, dressed like that,” his voice was low, but angry. brows furrowed, he doesn’t lose his grip on you. it scares you. “you can’t tell me you weren’t bartering for my attention.”

“i wasn’t.”

his jaw sets. “then who’s?”

“oh my god. nobody’s!”

“don’t fucking lie to me—”

“lu, stop, seriously.” your voice trembles this time, and you both notice it. he drops your hand.

“i didnt mean to hurt you,” he says, soft at your upset. “i swear—i dont remember cheating on you. i’m not gonna mess up like that again, i promise.”

he leans in to kiss you, to seal the pledge with his gentle touch, but you pull back. “it doesn’t matter that you didn’t mean to hurt me—you did. you can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.“

his big brown eyes bear into yours and he swears, “i can make it up to you.”

“luigi,” you hadn’t even realized you’d been crying until he brings his hands up to wipe your tears away. “i just don’t think this is a good idea, i’m sorry.”

“come on,” he says, frowning. “i love you. only you.” his lean-in to kiss you is successful this time. the kiss feels much better—softer—than last night’s. he’s gentle with his desperation, intent on making you stay. “‘m sorry, okay?” he says between kisses. “let me make it better.”

“no, luigi, we shouldn’t—”

“you’ve got to hear me out, y/n,” he takes your lips again. his hot kisses move down your neck—and it all feels so different this time around. even the air in the room feels lighter. his voice is against your ear when he swears, “i’ll be good to you, sweetheart, i promise.”

saying no to him is near impossible—it’s why you shut yourself off of him for weeks, avoiding places he frequented, deactivating your social media, ignoring his constant stream of messages and calls. now, he has you, and within minutes, you’re pressed against the wall again.

“feels good?” he teases, grinding his hard-on into your core. you melt underneath him, you can’t help it, he’s so warm.

“lu,” you whimper. you’re still sensitive from how selfishly he took you the night before, you can’t help but react to his touch so quickly. it felt so raw.

“wait—” he never does. his hands are on your hips again, moving your body against his.

“just let me take care of you,” he says, trailing kisses down your neck again. this time, he was sure to leave marks.

he keeps the dress on this time. he places you back onto the bed, and as you gather the courage to take him in again, he moves beneath you.

“knew i recognized these,” his voice hot against the fabric of your panties.

you told yourself the lacy black panties were just meant to match the dress, but it all seemed so intentional—the party crash, the kitchen drive-by, the fact that you were wearing his valentines day gift. whether this was a manifestation of your greatest fear or desire, you couldn’t tell.

he kisses your thighs, then runs his tongue against your core through the fabric of your panties before ceremoniously ripping them off. he kisses and sucks at your wetness. you tremble at the suddenness of his movement. his big nose is so prominent in your pussy, you can’t help but grind yourself against his perfect face and whine as he drinks you in.

“you’re such a fucking mess,” luigi says, smiling into your warmth. his unshaven stubble tickles your sensitive cunt, sending a tremor through you. “so wet, i’ve barely even touched you.”

“i can’t help it,” you whimper.

he grabs your ass, pulling you closer to his relentless mouth. it’s ridiculous how good he feels. he’s completely shameless in his endeavor to ruin you.

“look at me,” luigi orders, so you do. you look down to see him, finding that he’s already gotten to touching himself. his hard length at the edge of the bed, furiously red, as he strokes himself. “i think about you everyday,” he admits in between licking at your core. “i missed how this pretty pussy tasted. i missed having you like this. holding you down so you can’t squirm away. missed hearing you beg.”

you’re almost there, fidgeting underneath his hands. “luigi, please. it’s too much.”

“you’ve taken worse,” he growls into you.

he feels like he’s on fire. one hand moves up and down along his cock fervently, while the other lends itself to fingering your frothing pussy. you mewl at the sudden entry, back arching.

“luigi,” you whine. “please.”

“i’m trying to do a nice thing for you, y/n,” he hums, “but you want me to be selfish, hm? want me to take you?”

“yes,” you say, breathless.

“fuckin’ slut,” he grumbles, pulling himself away from your wet cunt. he grabs your ankles and pulls you to the edge of the bed. “what d’you want from me, huh?”

“want you.”

“course you do,” luigi says, surprising you with hard slaps against your sensitive clit. you cry out at the sensation, the unfamiliar storm of bliss and torment, and he chuckles darkly. “you fuckin’ belong to me.”

he grabs your chin and forces you into another kiss, your wetness now staining you both. he lifts your leg up and slides himself back into your wet warmth. “you’re dripping,” he praises as he pounds into you. the exhilarating pain sets your senses alight, you grip onto him tighter without even realizing. “all for me, yeah?”

“all for you.” you nod. this is not how you expected this conversation to go. you writhe at how big he is, how hard.

“you can take it,” he grunts. he’s not fast, this time—his thrusts are agonizingly slow and tortuously deep—just as you think it’s all entirely too much, one hand grips your clothed tit, the other lifts to cradle your chin, forcing your lips to part open. he spits into your mouth. “swallow,” he orders.

you do.

“good girl,” he places sloppy, wet kisses along your jaw, your neck, then goes to bite at your tits. “so fuckin’ pretty.”

“i thought about you too,” you admit sheepishly, out of your mind. he looks up at you, raises his eyebrows, urging you to go on. “i missed you.”

to your surprise, he scoffs. “fuckin’ bitch.” he suddenly loses the interest in being gentle with you, returning to your body rough and angry. his fingers massage against your clit, unraveling you. “you’re just as crazy as i am, you know that? running around town like you don’t belong to me. like you don’t touch yourself late at night thinking about this cock. wishing those fingers were half as good as mine, huh? fuckin’ idiot.”

“luigi,” you cry out. was this him being nice?

“be a good girl f’me,” he grunts. he feels you pulse around his cock and drives into you with even more force. “cum all over me, baby. have my fuckin’ kids.”

“luigi,” you mewl again, desperate for release.

“come on, pretty, show me how good it feels.”

his lips return to yours, hot wet and desperate, as he cums inside of you. you’re a complete mess—squirming and whimpering as you unravel onto his cock, he catches your moans with kisses and leaves you shaking underneath him.

“good girl,” he hums, kissing your forehead.

for a fleeting moment, the two of you are perfect. everything feels just right. he slips into the spot beside you, the disarray of tangled sheets forgotten as he pulls you into his warmth. you sink into the nape of his neck, and though there are no more words spoken, the air is thick with an undeniable love, quiet but all encompassing.

but when he stirs awake, reaching for you, all that lingers is the soft, fading smell of your spring perfume.

MASTERLIST send requests ! <3

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

II ║ Threads

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part I: Seams | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: M

Summary: When Joel revisits Main Street Outfitters two weeks later, he finds you on your knees. Again.

Warnings: Very spicy thoughts but not explicit, sexual tension, sexual innuendos, some language, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: This crept up on me and happened just as I was finishing up edits. I am so grateful, and I hope Threads is a fitting thank you gift to you all 😘 I’m thinking about doing a sleepover celebration, we shall see!

Joel and Pin are back ❤️ They're back because you guys have been so generous with your love, sending me so many ideas and hyping me up - I can't thank you all enough! This chapter is all thanks to Singer machine anon who bravely (affectionate 😉) shared their story of getting stuck under a sewing machine table. I hope you enjoy this one!

A treadle sewing machine is powered mechanically by a foot pedal that is pushed back and forth by the operator's foot. 

If you're not familiar, here is a classic Singer treadle cabinet, which is no way big enough for the purposes of this story, so please exercise your imagination 😉

Joel hovers outside the Jackson Grocer’s, arms crossed, trying to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible in front of the leafy display of butter lettuce heads.

It’s been a few months since he’s settled in, but sometimes he can’t get over how fucking nuts this place is. Looking at the shelves brimming with fresh fruits and vegetables outside, canned food and home goods inside, he could easily be standing outside the 24/7 mart in his old neighbourhood. There are even shopping baskets, for crying out loud - stacked neatly one on top of the other by the door.

A voice pipes up from his left. ‘Didn’t know you ate greens.’

Joel scowls. ‘I don’t.’

‘Why are you loiterin’, then?’ asks Tommy, picking up a couple of apples and examining them with exaggerated care.

‘I’m not loiterin’,’ he spits out the last word as if he’s above it, turning his gaze to the high street. 

Tommy tosses him a cocky grin, head tilted at a knowing angle. ‘Yeah, you are. And now you’re makin’ eyes at Bob. It’s disturbin’.’

Glancing across the main thoroughfare at the welder’s shop, where the said proprietor is cutting up wooden planks on the porch, Joel grumbles sarcastically, ‘That’s right. Bob is just my type.’

At that very moment, right next to Bob's, the door of Main Street Outfitters creaks open, and Joel recognises Lucy instantly as she sneaks out on tiptoes. She skips down the stairs and wanders up the street in what appears to be another impromptu work break.

Joel’s already taken two steps towards the shop before he remembers that he’s not alone. Braking abruptly and bringing up one hand to scratch the back of his neck, he feels Tommy’s eyes on him.

He half-turns, and snaps, ‘What?’

The younger Miller brother shrugs, pursing his lips thoughtfully. ‘Why are you going to the Outfitters again? Didn’t you just get those new jeans a couple of weeks ago?’

‘Thought I’d get a new shirt for your stupid baby shower.’

‘Joel -’

‘Sorry, sorry.’ He throws his hands up in capitulation. ‘Baby showers are not stupid. Especially in the middle of an apocalypse.’

Taking another two steps forward, a thought stops him dead in his tracks again. He can practically feel Tommy smiling smugly at his back.

For fuck’s sake.

He doesn’t turn around this time, jamming his hands into his pockets and asks, ‘Can I bring someone? To the party?’

‘We know Ellie’s comin’.’

Whipping around, he growls, ‘Tommy -’

He laughs. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. Joel Miller makin’ friends in town? Maria’s right - you’re fittin’ right in, big brother.’

Rolling his eyes, Joel flips him off and stomps his way across the street.

Tommy calls out at his retreating back. ‘Say hello to Pin and tell her we’d love to have her come over on Sunday!’

When he steps inside, the shop is as empty as it was a fortnight ago. Joel shuts the door firmly, making sure the bell jingles, so his entry doesn’t go unnoticed.

Your voice, though muffled, comes promptly. ‘Lucy! Is that you?’

He heads towards the doorway that leads to the workshop. ‘It’s Joel, actually.’

‘Oh, shit!’

His eyebrows reach for his hairline - you don’t seem to be the type to curse. Concerned, he asks, ‘You alright back there?’

There’s a touch of panic in your reply, ‘Don’t come back here. Did Lucy sneak out again?’

On your instruction, Joel hesitates in the middle of the room, talking to air. ‘Yeah, saw her leave a couple of minutes ago.’

‘Goddamnit, Lucy!’

He shuffles his feet awkwardly. ‘Uh, you sure you’re ok? Should I come back later?’

There’s a resigned sigh, then a pause. ‘Promise you won’t laugh.’

One end of his lips tugs upwards in a smile. ‘Why would I?’

‘Promise.’

At your insistence, he humours you, ‘Alright, I promise, sweetheart.’

‘Come on back.’

When he steps into the workshop, he doesn’t spot you immediately. The space is seemingly empty, everything standing still and in order. He sweeps his eyes across the room, starting with the shelving unit and the desk along the near wall, then trailing over the large timber work table in the middle, where a stack of folded shirts stands neatly.

His throat isn’t the only thing that tightens when he glances at the rug under the skylight -

‘Joel?’

Your voice draws his attention to the far corner of the room, where a sewing station is tucked into a little alcove.

Joel doesn’t know much about sewing machines, but he can recognise a vintage Singer anywhere even without the name blazoned across its elegant body. His grandmother had one in her drawing room by a sunny bay window, and he used to watch her work on it when he visited every other weekend. For a disorienting second, he can almost smell homemade cinnamon rolls and black tea.

Little did he know that things were about to get a lot more disorienting than a pleasant childhood memory.

As he steps around the work table, the rest of the sewing station comes into view, fronted by a big window, the light streaming through the glass glancing off the black sewing machine on top of a classic treadle cabinet. What looks like a half-finished dress lies on the wooden work surface, which stands on quintessential wrought metal legs, and between them - his throat constricts with a slow swallow when he realises what - or rather, who - he’s looking at.

The words barely come out, as if his tongue is suddenly too big for his mouth, as he makes his presence known. ‘I’m here, sweetheart.’

To be fair, you’re not making things easy by any means. All he can see is your backside hovering in mid-air, the rest of you out of sight under the desk. It has built-in cabinets on each end, the right side of it backed up against the far wall, and a chair is pushed to the side.

Joel stops two measured paces away, staring down at the curve of your ass and the way your top rides up, baring the small of your back. His eyes linger on the soft skin between the shirt’s hem and the waistband of your very tight jeans.

Jesus Christ. Do you always have to be on your fucking knees in this workshop?

Your small voice jolts him from his daze. ‘Well, at least you’re not laughing.’

He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from scoffing. If only you knew how laughing is the furthest thing on his mind right now. ‘What happened?’

‘A spool rolled off and I went down to get it, but I fell on the treadle accidentally - I think my shirt is snagged in the band wheel. I can’t move at all, and this Singer is an antique - I can't risk breaking it.’

Unfamiliar with what you’re talking about, he probes, ‘And where’s the band wheel?’

‘Under the table, on my right.’

You wriggle your hips, perhaps to help him locate where you’re stuck, unaware that you’re not helping. At all. 

He swallows thickly and implores you, ‘Stay still, sweetheart. I’ll take a look.’

It’s been two whole weeks since Joel Miller came into the shop. You’ve caught glimpses of him in between - Jackson is tiny, after all. He catches your eye as he ambles down the high street with Ellie, his gruff Southern accent carrying even in the mid-afternoon bustle, too preoccupied arguing with the teenager to notice you on the other side of the road. He’s in the cafeteria a couple of times when you arrive for a late dinner, nodding at you from a few tables over, while you work up the nerve to smile back.

Every time, he’s wearing the jeans you handpicked for him, which makes your chest swell and constrict at the same time with something like - pride.

You picked out the pair for him. You assured him that he looks good. And by the way he’s wearing his confidence on his sleeve, he’s certainly taken your words to heart. 

Whenever you see other women eyeing him as he struts about town - which is entirely too often - it awakens an ugly possessiveness in you, one that twists your insides into grotesque balloon animals.

Fourteen damn days. Even in the privacy of your workshop, you can’t escape that man. The simple touch of denim provokes a visceral reaction from you, heat chases beneath your skin every time you pick up the tailor’s scissors. It doesn’t help that most of your daily tasks are not exactly cerebral, which gives this man all the more leeway to lay claim to your subconscious.

If you believed in magic, you would've thought you summoned him with the sheer energy you’ve spent thinking about him. But what kind of witchcraft conjured him up at the precise moment you get trapped like the bumbling idiot that you are?

One minute you’re reaching for the stupid thread, the next thing you know, you’re stuck, unable to move without the mechanisms of the antique Singer groaning ominously at your attempts to free yourself.

But maybe, it’s still better than Lucy finding you. She’d take a hammer to the sewing machine to get you out, no question - patience is not her strong suit - and she’d be laughing at you for days.

You hear the floorboards give behind you as Joel moves into the space, which isn’t much - when you’re sat down at the treadle cabinet, the wall is barely two steps behind.

The wooden table creaks above you as he braces one hand on the surface, and you startle at what sounds like the vicious crack of a vertebra.

‘Um - you okay?’

Joel grunts. ‘I’ll live.’

So you wait, thinking absent-mindedly how your elbows are starting to get numb. There’s a scruff of boots and what sounds like a brief struggle, before Joel sighs. ‘Back’s too stiff ‘mfraid. Gotta get on the floor to see underneath.’

Before you can squeak out a reply, there’s a boney click of what you presume is his knees as he crouches down, and an unexpected brush of denim on your left ankle surprises you. Forgetting where you are, you jump in reflex, hitting the underside of the table so hard that you screech in pain.

‘Shit!’ Joel cusses behind you, one warm hand landing on the side of your hip to steady you. ‘You ok?’

Up until this point, you’ve been too consumed with embarrassment by your predicament to even think about the position Joel found you in. But once the warm imprint of his palm registers through the denim, it hits you like one of those interstate trucks that you used to see out of your window.

You’re leaning on your forearms, ass in the air, and now - he’s behind you, getting onto his knees. You can’t decide if the back of your head or your pussy is throbbing harder as you stutter, ‘I’m fine, just - get me out, please.’

‘Alright, hang on, sweetheart.’

You swallow the childish urge to stamp your foot. He has no right going around dropping sweethearts all over the place.

There’s a throaty exhale as Joel lowers himself onto the floor, his knees bracketing yours to shift closer to you. You know he feels the shudder that chases down your spine when soft flannel grazes your bare back, heat spilling from his solid frame as he looms over you.

‘You say you’re stuck in the band wheel?’

Somehow, you manage to answer, ‘Yeah, to my right.’

He clears his throat. ‘I - uh - I’ll have to lean down pretty close to you to take a look, is that ok?’

You feel all the air leave your body, which is probably why your reply comes out far breathier than you intend it to. ‘Yes, Joel.’

And with those two words, Joel has a problem with his jeans. Again.

They’re too tight. Again.

There’s nothing he can do as his mouth goes dry and his cock hardens with a vengeance, his self-control slipping like sand between his fingers.

He was doing so good - well, he was more or less holding it together, as much as he could be expected to while kneeling behind you. And of course, his damn knees hurt, but so does his bottom lip which is caught in his teeth, trying to regulate his breathing when his heart threatens to beat right out of his chest. 

He already has one hand on you, and goddamnit, it’s taking him all he’s got to hold back from gripping you with his other, to grasp the swell of your ass between his palms, to trace your curves up to the dip of your exposed waist, to bow his head and run his tongue along the arc of your spine -

And the jeans you’re wearing - fuck, they’re tight. He wonders idly if you wore them for him. His eyes follow the seam that runs down the cleft of your ass, the way the pockets stretch over your backside has his fingers twitching, thinking about how well you will fill his hands, and how the slow rub of denim will burn his skin.

He wants to hook his thumbs into the belt loops and pull you flush against the zipper of his jeans, where his cock is straining against - rub himself on you, grind on you, his thighs plastered to the back of yours -

‘Joel?’

Fuck.

He sways as he snaps out of his stupor, dangerously close to knocking into you, light-headed from the lack of blood to his brain. He chokes out, ‘Yeah, I got you, sweetheart.’

Get it together, you dirty bastard.

He’s careful to leave a couple of inches between his front and your ass when he bends his elbows and ducks so he can peer beneath the desk. His chest pressed flat against your lower back, he can see the bunched fabric of your shirt where it’s caught.

‘Yup, you’re right, your shirt is snagged tight in there.’

‘Can you untangle it?’

‘Think so, but I’ll need both hands.’ He pauses. ‘I’d better get on my back under you.’

You swear you’re going to black out.

‘Pin?’ he prompts when you’ve been quiet a beat too long.

‘I - um, what do you mean by going under me?’

‘If I’m on my back, I can use both my hands, like a mechanic under a car,’ he explains. ‘If you’re uncomfortable, I can find another way -’

‘No!’ you blurt out, wincing at the desperation in your tone. ‘I mean - whatever is easiest for you. You’re the one doing me a favour here.’

‘Alright,’ he says, placated by your reassurance. ‘On your hands and knees then, sweetheart.’

Your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head. Oh, come on. Can he hear himself?

Scraping together your last vestiges of control, you push up on your palms to make space underneath you. You have to consciously lock your elbows - your joints suddenly feel like barely set pudding. 

‘Move as far to your right as possible so I can slide in.’

Shuffling on your hands and knees until you’re pressed up against the band wheel, you hear the brush of fabric on wood - must be his back against the floorboards as he slides in. To say it’s a squeeze is an understatement. His broad shoulders brush the front of your thighs as he inches in, and then, his face appears under yours, head between your hands.

His lips quirk. ‘Hi, sweetheart.’

Your breath hitches at his proximity, your wrists brushing the soft red flannel he’s wearing today. ‘Hi.’

‘You ok?’ he asks.

You’re this close to pouting. What does he think? There’s a telltale stickiness between your legs that you’re frantically trying to push to the back of your mind while you mmhmm noncommittally, hoping that he doesn’t smell your want in the tiny, claustrophobic space you’re now both caught in.

You can only assume that he’s none the wiser, since the next thing that comes of his mouth is - 

‘Climb on top of me so I can slide in closer to the band wheel.’

Someone might as well say your last rites. This is the end.

You’re taken aback when your limbs start to move on autopilot, because your faculties have well and truly abandoned ship. One trembling leg attempts to swing itself over the solid breadth of his body, but it wobbles like jelly, and your knee ends up connecting firmly with his stomach instead of landing clear on his other side.

At his grunted oomph, you panic and bang your head on the underside of the table again, which sends your whole weight sprawling onto his front with a yelp.

Joel cradles the back of your scalp with one hand. ‘Shit, you ok, sweetheart?’

The seams of your lashes sting, your head smarting with the impact, and you blink drily as your gaze focuses on Joel under you. He’s so close that you can see flecks of gold in his brown eyes, his breath hitting your face in warm puffs. Your glance at his lips, and with that one little motion, all goes quiet.

He watches you back, neither of you breathing, and in the stillness you realise that you’re fully straddling him, your palms pressing into the hard floor on either side of his ears. Your tits are crushed up against his ribs, his soft tummy warmly cushioned under you. Lower still, where your hips are nestled into the spread of his thick thighs, something stiff and long and insistent presses into you -

Your jaw goes slack when it dawns on you. 

Oh god.

He’s hard.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Joel breaks the silence, a pained frown on his brow as he shakes his head. ‘This is embarrassin’. Couldn’t fuckin’ help it, seein’ you in those jeans -’

Tongue-tied, you can only stare at him, wishing you were brave enough to say something. Tell him that you pulled extra shifts to buy this particular pair of jeans, knowing that they flatter your figure. That you’ve worn them almost every day these two weeks, hoping that he’d swing by again. 

But you can’t. 

So you pray that he can see what you can’t say by the way you’re looking at him, by the way your heart races wildly in your ribcage against his chest.

His voice cracks. ‘I understand if you want me to go -’

You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth and cut in, ‘Don’t.’

His warm eyes widen, something like hopefulness in the way he looks up at you. ‘You don’t want me to go?’

You press your body closer into his, filling in the gaps. ‘No. Please don’t, Joel.’

He leans forward, so close that you can feel the phantom burn of his silvered beard, his palms finding the meat of your legs, blunt nails biting into the denim.

He really should be ashamed of himself, at the way his cock pulses unabashedly, nudged right between your thighs as you stare down at him, lips parted. He’s hard enough that he worries if there’s a wet spot of precum on the front of his jeans - he can feel himself leaking through his boxers. 

The wicked tip of your tongue traces a wet trail on your bottom lip, and he almost chokes on a half-buried groan deep in his chest. He knows that you don’t even know you’re doing it - and in turn, what that does to him.

It would be easy to close the two-inch gap between you. To kiss you, taste you, lick into your sweet mouth. All he needs to do is to cup the back of your head and pull you down, or crane his neck and press his lips to yours -

And Joel is someone who always follows the path of least resistance. 

But - he wants to do right by you. He knows you deserve more than a quick fumble under a table.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Joel steels himself and brushes a chaste thumb over your cheekbone. ‘Let’s get you out of here, and then we can talk, ok?’

It’s almost perverse the way his chest warms at the flicker of disappointment in your eyes as you give a reluctant nod, ‘Ok. Please be careful, the Singer’s really delicate.’

It’s hard to focus - his attention keeps drifting to how snugly you fit into his chest, between his arms, and it’s not a stretch to imagine a soft mattress underneath his back. It's funny how quickly his body has adjusted to creature comforts after months of sleeping on the cold winter ground.

Joel’s mindful that an antique sewing machine will be a pain in the ass to repair without the requisite parts, so he moves carefully, gently coaxing the band wheel back and forth to see how he can extract you. It doesn’t take long to loosen the grip of the metal teeth on your shirt, but he has to reach up and untangle the threads snagged into the mechanisms one by one.

He muses idly that this is not his method. These hands of his, with crooked knuckles that never healed right, where many a dagger, knife, gun, rifle have found a home - they break things, people.

When was the last time someone asked gentleness of him? 

He wants to scoff. That’s not what he’s good for.

Despite himself, his throat rumbles with a hum of satisfaction when the band wheel finally lets go of your shirt, the Singer whirring to life as it spins freely. He gives you a lopsided smile. ‘There you go, sweetheart.’

You smile, but don’t seem to be in a hurry to move, which pleases him. He likes looking at you from this angle, relishing in your weight on him. He takes his time running his eyes over your face, his palms coming to rest on your knees.

You duck your head prettily. ‘Thank you, Joel.'

He gives you a playful shrug. ‘Well, I owed you one for these jeans.’

You roll your eyes in good humour. ‘Actually, I told you specifically that you didn’t.’

Joel basks in the lighthearted turn in the conversation, egging you on, ‘Well, in that case, you owe me one for this instead.’

‘That’s hardly fair -’ you chide him, punching him in the shoulder in a half-hearted rebuke.

Taking the opportunity, he grabs you by the wrist, the contact prompting a bodily shudder from you that he doesn’t miss. He smirks, ‘M’fraid I don’t play fair, sweetheart.’

You glare at him in mock sternness, bold enough to demand, ‘Fine - what do you want then, Joel Miller?’

For a split second, he hesitates, woefully out of practice at whatever it is that he’s about to do. Swallowing his self-doubt, he asks, ‘Tommy and Maria are throwing a baby shower on Sunday at their house - do you want to come?’

Your shoulders stiffen. Now, that you were not expecting. Your social anxiety bubbles between your ribs and looms over you like a spector. You sputter, ‘Um, I -’

You start when his fingers draw soothing circles on the top of your knees, as if seeing straight through the source of your apprehension. He reassures you, ‘Lucy is welcome to join too. The more the merrier.’

Your eyes soften. ‘Ok. I’d love to.’

The endearing way the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles has you swaying towards him, his nose just brushing the side of yours - when the doorbell rings, cutting through the loaded silence. 

In your haste to sit up, you knock your head against the table for a third time. 

‘Ow!’ you cry. Even Joel flinches at the hard hit.

Lucy calls out, sounding dangerously close. ‘Pin? You ok, hon?’

‘Shit!’ You start scrambling backwards, bent over awkwardly, convinced that you’re one more blow away from a concussion. You’ve barely scrambled onto your feet when Lucy steps into the workshop, the world tilting on its axis for a moment as blood rushes to your brain. 

She watches in amusement as Joel drags himself from under the sewing station, head cocked to one side. ‘Hi again, stranger. You really like our shop, don’t you?’

His shirt is rumpled from where you sat on him, bits of his curls sticking up. He rubs the back of his neck, as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ‘I just swung by to, uh, invite you and Pin to the baby shower. Tommy and Maria’s. This Sunday.’

Lucy crosses her arms, arching an eyebrow. ‘And it’s a tradition where you’re from to talk about weekend plans under a table?’

You narrow your eyes at her. ‘Luce -’

She winks. ‘You know what? I don’t need to know the gory details - but I’m in. See you Sunday, Miller!’

Joel huffs a chuckle as Lucy disappears into the front of the shop, leaving you two alone. You smile, suddenly shy for no reason, twining your fingers to stop from fidgeting. ‘Thanks again, Joel.’

He shrugs it off, a touch of boldness in the way he stands, hands in pockets, hips cocked. ‘Pleasure was all mine, sweetheart.’

Instead of heading in the direction of the door, he takes two long strides towards you, leaning down to murmur in your ear, ‘Wear those jeans for me again on Sunday?’

Stunned, you gape at him as he turns with a crooked grin and walks off, dispatching a two-fingered salute at Lucy as he goes. Pausing by the threshold, Joel gives you one last wink that has your breath stuttering - but you only allow yourself to sag against the wall when the door closes behind him, your knees giving.

Lucy wastes no time skipping back into the workshop, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. ‘Alright, time to raid the party clothes rack, girl!’

You laugh - Sunday can’t come fast enough.

Notes: I had the best time writing this chapter - it was fun to flip the tables on Pin, not that Joel comes out completely unscathed!

I definitely have ✨ideas✨ for these two, but I'm enjoying keeping things loose, so I have no plans to turn this into a full-blown series just yet. I hope you enjoyed this instalment, comments/reblogs/asks are so so appreciated as always ❤️

[sturniolospumpkin]

matt’s — m.s. & c.s.

part two (part one // part three // part four)

pairings: dom!chris x sub!matt’s gf!reader

summary: after having a threesome with your boyfriend matt and his brother chris, chris can’t stop thinking about having you all to himself.

warnings: MDNI. contains smut, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (p in v), crying, degrading, choking, spitting, cheating, angst

disclaimers: this is all fiction. obviously the triplets are not like this in real life, these are just fics i write out of boredom. please do not republish my work as your own, and please credit me if using my writing as inspo <3

chris wanted more. ever since the other night he couldn’t stop thinking about having you all to himself—him calling the shots, not his brother. he didn’t try very hard to hide it. his eyes lingered on you shamelessly when you were in his presence, dick hardening as he replayed the memories of that night. it wasn’t just his gaze that changed, his behavior did too. chris had always picked on you, but the teasing had increased significantly since having sex with you.

like when you were eating breakfast at the dining table one morning, matt sitting to your left typing up a response to an email, while nick sat across from you editing this week’s video. you had gotten up from the table to refill your water when chris entered the kitchen without a word—he wasn’t much of a conversationalist in the morning. he opens the pantry to grab a poptart before heading to the table. when you finish refilling your glass, you turn to see him sitting in your seat, his brothers too engrossed in their work to notice.

“oh, i was sitting there.” you speak softly with slight confusion since the four of you always sat in the same designated seats.

“that sucks.” chris responds without a glance, continuing to eat his poptart and scroll through instagram.

“chris c’mon.” you plead with frustration, wanting to sit next to your boyfriend.

“just sit in the other chair y/n.” he suggests.

“but i was sitting there! why don’t you sit in the other chair?” you retort.

“’cause i don’t wanna.” he answers plainly.

“chris stop being a dick” nick chimes in.

“i always sit there, next to matty.” you continue.

“oh no! hopefully you can survive being two feet away from matty!” he mocks with a chuckle, satisfied by how much his actions are affecting you.

“chris please—” you beg, frustrated by his tormenting.

“chris, get up and give her the damn seat. why are you acting like a child?” matt cuts you off, a sigh of annoyance leaving him as he returns to his work.

“fine, fine, i was just messing, sheesh.” chris laughs throwing his hands up defensively before moving over to the other chair. you take your seat, glaring at him for the unnecessary performance. a smirk is plastered on his face and he offers you a wink before returning to his poptart.

chris also began flirting with you when his brothers were out of earshot. like when matt was in the shower getting ready for your dinner date, and you walked downstairs in a fitted black dress, your black heels clicking as you made your way to the kitchen for a snack to hold you over. chris turned to look over the couch at the sound of your heels.

“wow, you look so pretty sweetheart.” he smiled, eyes scanning you from head to toe, “you’d look even prettier without it though.”

or the time matt and nick went to pick up scratch off tickets for another video. you sat on the left side of the couch, chris on the opposite side as you laughed at some joke in the show you two were watching. you felt eyes on you and turned to see him smiling at you.

“what?” you question.

“do you try to be the most perfect girl in the world, or does it just come naturally?” he smirks.

“chris” you smile, rolling your eyes, “just watch the damn show.”

“sorry it’s just hard to focus when the most beautiful girl in the world is sitting next to me.” he cheeses.

but the occasional flirting wasn’t enough for him. he needed more. he needed to touch you. he wanted nothing more than to throw you onto his bed and fuck you stupid. everyday was an internal battle against his desires— a battle he was close to losing.

one day, chris decided he couldn’t take it anymore. him and his brothers were supposed to attend an influencer party that night, but chris lied, telling them he didn’t feel well and that they should go without him, to which they agreed. he felt fine, he just knew you’d be home alone, as you and matt kept your relationship relatively private.

after nick and matt left for the party, chris plopped himself onto the couch, leg bouncing with anticipation. the thought of being alone in the house with you for hours was already driving him crazy, then you walked downstairs in those fucking shorts; the ones that hugged your ass so perfectly. he couldn’t resist getting up from the kitchen table to walk over to you. he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, knowing he could be bold without worry of getting caught. you jump at his touch, panic washing over you briefly until he speaks.

“look so sexy in these damn shorts sweetheart.” he mumbles softly in your ear before nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck.

you smile at his words, before trying to free yourself from his grip, but he refuses to let go. instead his grip on you tightens, not painfully, just enough to keep you in his hold as he places light kisses on your shoulder, sending a chill down your spine. despite how much you’re enjoying the feeling of his lips on you, you’re aware that you need to stop him.

“chris stop, we can’t, not without matt.” you whisper softly.

“matt said doesn’t mind.” chris quickly responds, his lips now traveling up your neck.

“he did?” you question, heart thumping with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. matt has never said that to you, but then again you’ve never asked.

“mhm, he’s always telling me it’s whatever you want.” chris smiles, lips moving along your jaw.

you hum, too absorbed in the soft feeling of his lips to respond.

“c’mon sweetheart” chris turns you around to face him, before reaching a hand out to cup your cheek and leaning in close, his smiling face only inches from yours, “let me take care of you.”

you hesitate, eyes locked on chris as you gnaw on your lip thinking it over. you’d never thought about being alone with chris, you’d only ever thought about being with him and matt together. but you’d be lying it you said you didn’t want chris in this moment. and if matt said he didn’t mind, then it’s okay. you nod your head.

“words sweetheart.” he needs to hear you say it.

“please.” you plead, voice quiet.

“please what? tell me exactly what you want sweetheart.” he smirks.

“want you to fuck me, please.” you squeak.

his smile grows wider, teeth fully showing, and a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he leans in, lips hovering next to your ear.

“good girl.” his warm voice sends another chill down your spine.

it’s the last thing you hear before he grabs you by the waist and throws you over his shoulder, heading downstairs to his room.

“chris!” you yelp in shock at him manhandling you.

“save all that yellin’ for the bedroom.” he chuckles.

he reaches his door, kicking it open and tossing you on the bed before turning back to shut and lock it. he turns back around and quickly climbs over you on the bed, connecting his lips with yours. he kisses you desperately, moving quickly to your neck, then shoulder before stopping at your chest. he pulls back to yank your shirt off roughly, the both of you stare at each other with wide eyes in response to his actions.

“sorry—” he apologizes for not asking before taking off your shirt, “that okay?”

you nod your head before reconnecting your lips.

“want these slutty fucking shorts off.” he mutters in between kisses, “please.”

you comply, sliding off your shorts and your underwear.

chris pulls his lips from yours, kissing down your chest, to your stomach, to your pelvis, stopping just above your clit. he spreads your legs before kneeling in between them and resting his head against your thigh. his face is so close to your core that you can feel his breath.

“so pretty baby.” he coos, fingers playing with your folds as his eyes glance up to yours, “gonna let me have a taste?”

you nod your head eagerly, before he tilts his head and raises his eyebrows at you. you know he needs to hear you say it.

“yes, please.” you whine squirming under his touch.

he smiles before diving in instantly, tongue exploring your pussy. he wastes no time, eating you like you’re his last meal. his tongue swirls in circles over your clit, pleasure coursing through your veins. your hands tug at his soft hair as you squirm, causing him to groan against your pussy. his eyes flicker up to your blissed out face above him, and the sight of him looking up at you, head between your thighs, makes your eyes roll back instantly. you feel him smile against your pussy before his tongue enters your hole. you gasp as he fucks his tongue in and out of you.

“you taste so fucking good.” chris praises, “might just stay here all day. make you cum on my tongue over and over again.”

“chrissy please” you moan, unsure of what you’re even pleading for.

“mmm” he growls, “fucking love when you call me that.”

he continues devouring you, the sounds of his slurping and your wetness fill the room in conjunction with the moans leaving the two of you. you feel the pleasure build in your lower abdomen, your body twisting under the actions of his mouth.

“stop fuckin’ squirming, i’m enjoying my meal sweetheart” he chuckles, wrapping his arms under your legs to keep you in place.

his words make you whine, your head thrown back in ecstasy. he’s eating you out so well, just as well as matt does, but the excitement of being alone with chris is heightening the pleasure. tears fill your eyes as you feel yourself on the verge of falling apart. chris is well aware that you’re close, his eyes have been constantly checking on you, making sure you’re enjoying every second of this.

“awe, so good you’re cryin’? why don’t you go ahead and cum for me sweetheart?” he smiles before returning his mouth to your pussy.

his words send you over the edge, your loud whines and moans filling the room as your body shakes under his grip. his tongue is unrelenting, fucking you through your orgasm. your head spins as you try to catch your breath, processing how hard your boyfriend’s brother just made you cum.

“that’s it, cummin’ all over my face like a good fucking girl.” he praises, hands rubbing your thighs slowly as he laps up your juices.

you whine at his words and the overstimulation. he notices and pulls away to stand up, chest heaving and lips shiny as he observes your naked body sprawled out on the bed, a look of pure euphoria on your face. he shakes his head in disbelief. this is the best moment of his life. he’d give this to you everyday if he could.

“you picked the wrong fucking brother.” he laughs smugly, dropping his pants.

you brows furrow, a bit hurt that he would say that about matt. you don’t have a chance to respond before he lines himself up with your pussy and speaks again.

“you want me?” chris asks for permission, but part of you wonders if there’s a deeper meaning to his question.

“yes.” you respond before he slips into you with ease, your pussy still soaked from his previous actions.

the two of you moan at the feeling before he begins moving his hips. every thrust is slow but rough—calculated—he wants you to feel everything.

“should’ve picked me, huh? could’ve had this dick whenever you wanted it.” chris taunts, a playful edge to his words.

but your stomach drops the same way it did at his “wrong brother” comment. you loved being with matt, you wouldn’t change that.

chris begins fucking you faster, skin slapping against yours as he places your legs on his shoulders, allowing his cock to reach even deeper inside you.

“chris” you moan at the new angle.

“gonna fuck you so much better than matt, you deserve to be fucking worshiped.” his voice now devoid of any playfulness.

you’re too fucked out to even speak. all thoughts leave your head as his cock hits your g-spot with every thrust. your hands are gripping the sheets, desperate to hold onto something while he fucks you senseless. chris admires the sight of you beneath him, he feels a sense of power in having you like this— in having what is matt’s.

“got you all to myself now huh? get do whatever i want to you without him looking over my fucking shoulder.” he grits, hips slamming into you.

he squeezes your jaw, causing your mouth to open. he looks you in the eyes before you see his lips pucker. it all happens faster than you can process it, you suddenly feel something warm on your tongue—his spit. you instinctively swallow, letting out a whimper. chris’s smiles, eyes fluttering shut before releasing your jaw and flipping you over on all fours, immediately entering you again.

“such a slut for me” he groans when his dick hits your cervix, “not a slut for matty like this are you?”

matty. the nickname. he’s mocking you. you shake your head in response to his question, even though you know it isn’t true.

he hums in satisfaction, staring down at your body with a shit-eating grin. his eyes move to where your bodies connect over and over. he’s fixated on the sight of your juices coating his dick, the mess spreading across his pelvis and your ass with every thrust. you’re so wet for him and he absolutely loves it.

“makin’ a mess all over my cock baby.” he laughs giving your ass a squeeze.

you whine at his words, your senses flooded with pleasure. you want more, you need more. you push your ass back against him to meet his thrusts. his cock reaches even deeper with your added movements, causing a moan to escape your lips before you continue repeating the action over and over. chris’s jaw falls open as he stares at you in awe.

“good girl, fucking yourself on my cock.” he moans loudly, “you’re so desperate, huh sweetheart?”

something of a pathetic cry leaves your lips as you nod your head eagerly, his words pushing you close to the edge. he groans, a hand gripping your hair roughly and pulling you up, your back meeting his chest as he fucks you. his other hand grips your jaw, turning your face to meet his. your eyes lock in each other’s, both of you observing each other’s desperation. his pupils are dilated, eyelids heavy, and mouth open in pleasure as he fucks into you. your eyes never leave each other, it’s vulnerable and intimate.

your mind swirls between pleasure and something else— something more, something you’d never admit. chris already knows you feel it though, because chris can see it in your eyes— it’s the same way chris has looked at you since the moment he met you.

he grunts, before connecting your lips, shoving his tongue into your mouth in a long passionate kiss. his tongue moves desperately through your mouth, the both of you exchanging a series of moans before he eventually pulls away. his lips are swollen and shiny with spit and he’s panting with exasperation as he releases your jaw, hand dropping to your throat. he squeezes it lightly, much lighter than matt, but enough to make your lips tingle and your head feel that familiar fuzziness. his lips press against your ear, allowing you to hear every sound that escapes him. you feel his hips stutter before he speaks up.

“shit— i’m close, know you’re close too.” he rasps, “cum for me sweetheart.”

you obey his command, pleasure coursing through your body as you convulse around his cock. the sight and feeling of you finishing on him is the final push before he too falls apart.

“gonna fill your tight little cunt.” his groans lowly in your ear before you feel his warm cum fill you.

he’s panting in your ear trying to catch his breath as he releases his grip on your hair and throat, hands moving to your hips to keep you from falling. his fingers gently rub circles over the skin of your hips. he bends the two of you over the bed gently to lay you down.

“matt’s one lucky motherfucker.” chris mumbles in your ear before pressing a small kiss to your earlobe, pulling out of you gently.

he hums in satisfaction at the sight of his own cum dripping out of you—his brother’s girlfriend. the three words swirl in his head as he reaches to grab tissues from his nightstand, proceeding to clean the two of you up. he discards the tissues in his trashcan before sitting upright on the bed, laying a hand flat across your back. you’re laying on your stomach, head turned to the side as you lift your eyes to meet his, expecting to see his gentle lust filled eyes. instead you’re met with a look of worry, his eyes darting between you and the floor. your brows furrow in confusion at his behavior. the room is silent for a few moments, until chris let’s out a shaky sigh, removing his hand from your back.

“fuck. we shouldn’t have done that.” chris buries his face in his hands.

“what?” your heart falls to your stomach.

“we have to tell matt.” he looks up meeting your eyes.

“chris what do you mean, i thought you said he was okay with it?” you question, anxiety worsening.

chris shakes his head, “no, he— he didn’t exactly say that.”

your stomach drops at the realization that you just cheated on your boyfriend, with his brother. tears fill your eyes as your body freezes, unable to breathe.

“hey, deep breath it’s going to be okay.” chris turns to you, rubbing a hand along your back.

“why would— why would you lie?” you choke out in exasperated breaths, sobbing uncontrollably now, “why would you make me think it was okay?”

“well it wasn’t really a lie, he never said it wasn’t okay for us to have sex without him around.” chris attempts.

“but he never said it was okay!” you yell back.

“just wanted to have you to myself for once.” he mutters, turning to look down at the floor in front of him, “s’not fair that matt gets you to himself whenever he wants, but i have to wait ‘til he says i can have you.”

“chris i’m his girlfriend, that’s why!” you cry.

“yeah. yeah i know.” chris sighs, looking back up at you blankly, “it was selfish, im sorry. but i can’t hide this from matt, it’ll eat me alive. we gotta tell him sooner or later.”

“chris why would you do this? he’s going to leave me.” tears stream down my face,

“he’s not gonna leave you.” he speaks softly, rubbing your back. “i’m sorry i— i got carried away. i’ll explain that to him okay? it’s not your fault okay, you don’t need to worry about it.”

you shove his hand off you, getting up and putting your clothes back on. you’re a crying mess at this point, feeling guilt, anger, and betrayal wash over you. chris walks over to you, grabbing your wrist gently, causing you to look up at him.

“sweetheart, i never meant to hurt you.” chris pleads with soft eyes.

but his pleading and softness doesn’t matter. looking at him makes you feel sick right now.

“i don’t want to see you.” your voice cracking as you retract your wrist from his grip.

chris’s eyebrows raise, eyes becoming glossy as he shakes his head.

“no, sweetheart please i didn’t—” he begs.

“I can’t believe you.” you cut him off, turning to walk out of his room.

“i’ll fix it sweetheart, i promise.” a few tears slip down his face as he watches you walk out the door without a glance at him.

chris sat back down on his bed, tears flowing now as he cursed himself for what he did. he knew he fucked up, but he couldn’t help himself. he loved you. he wanted you to be his girl, not matt’s.

a/n: hope you guys liked this :) fun fact i actually wrote this series backwards so i already have part 3 written. i just need to edit & proofread, then i’ll post!

[starseungs]

han jisung x gn!reader. fluff, slight angst, brother's friend au. kinda school au. 0.9k wc.

note: mentions of y/n having trouble eating due to stress. yes this is VERY self indulgent (like my other jisung fics) leave me alone </3 i need this ... also watch me reuse odd for the nth time in this fic lol

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

[ 7:24 PM ] You were odd. That was the first thought that came into Jisung’s mind when he first met you. In his defense, who in their right mind wouldn’t think that way after witnessing you chop up a cheesecake into bite-sized squares?

Well, even “meet” was a strong word for that moment, really. He simply stumbled upon you in that horrendous act—in your own family’s kitchen, no less. Jisung had only expected to grab a couple of cold sodas from your fridge, with the permission of his friend, your older brother. Instead, he had to witness a terrifying massacre of one of his favorite desserts on the planet.

However, Jisung didn’t say anything about it. He just walked over to the fridge and did as he was told, ignoring the curious stares you pointed at him. At that short-lived interaction, he merely left the impression as is. You were odd.

Jisung soon came to realize that his first perception of you would be a running theme throughout everything that had to do with you in his life.

It was odd—the way you laughed and joked around with your friends at school. He found himself watching you carefully across the cafeteria hall, not even sure about what he was supposed to be looking at. You were eating well; even though it was just a light snack. To be fair, what else would you be doing in the cafeteria hall during lunch time, if not that? Yet, it still didn’t sit right with him to the point that he wanted to march up over to your table and feed you something more filling himself.

You were smiling, at least. A genuine one, if he could tell properly.

“What’s got all your attention?” It was only then that Jisung’s staring got broken off. Jeongin looked at him expectantly for an answer—one that Jisung didn’t want to give him as your brother.

Jisung sucked in a breath. “Nothing. I was spacing out, that’s all.”

Yes, it was truly odd. 

Odd, like the way his eyebrows immediately furrowed when you slammed through the front doors of your house one afternoon, heavily stomping towards your room. Another slam echoed through the house, telling of the way you treated your bedroom door with the same care. Jisung feels like he just swallowed a pebble.

“Don’t mind them,” Jeongin huffed, clearly annoyed at how you acted in front of a guest. “Y/N’s always got something going on.”

Jisung’s mouth only soured further. Now, that can’t be right. He had seen the way you acted when you were happy, or just going through the motions of the day. Compared to those looks of yours that he had unknowingly burned into his memory, the expression you had on was definitely a telltale sign that you were upset.

And just like that, he found himself telling his friends that he needed to use the bathroom. If he remembered correctly, your room was just right down the hall, which just so happened to be next to said bathroom. Jisung really didn’t want to call himself nosy, but when his ears picked up the sound of sniffling, his right hand was knocking softly at your door in an instant.

How odd.

Your door creaked open after a few more seconds, along with your confused face peaking out. He watched your expression break out into a tight smile when you saw him. Your eyes had a slight tint of red. “Did you need anything? The bathroom is the door behind you, by the way.”

Jisung didn’t know why, but he felt a sharp sting on his chest when he saw your smile. It wasn’t genuine, if he could tell. “Stop that,” he blurted out suddenly. Your face fell as his unexpectedly cold tone.

“Sorry?”

“You don’t want to smile,” Jisung pointed out, pursing his lips as if he had tasted something foul. You scoffed in disbelief.

“How polite of you.”

Now, Jisung was at a loss. What exactly was his purpose for this conversation? Not that he knew—just that he started it and had nowhere to lead to. Luckily, your stomach growled loudly, as if to save him from his misery. “Oh, we have pizza downstairs. If you want some.” 

Great job, Jisung. How smooth of you.

“I—” Your face felt warm in embarrassment, causing you to immediately clutch your stomach in a sad attempt at hiding it. To Jisung, it seemed like you were about to say something in retort before something possibly unpleasant crossed your mind. You sighed tiredly instead. “I’m not too sure if I can stomach something right now.”

Jisung frowned at your excuse. “Are you stressed?” You raised an eyebrow at his question. He quickly backpedals at the realization of how direct he just was. “I—uh, I meant if you’re having a hard time?”

Somehow, that seemed to work since you managed to crack an amused smile. Jisung finds himself thinking about how pretty your genuine ones are. 

“And if I am?”

“Then you need to eat,” he nods firmly, casually trying to chase away the thoughts swirling in his mind at that moment. “I’ll get you just a slice and water. You don’t have to finish the slice, but at least finish the glass.”

Jisung couldn’t help the way he caught sight of how your pretty lips parted open in shock. Your grip on your doorknob tightened ever so slightly. “Why are you doing this?”

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully. “Something is telling me to. It’s odd.”

“You—”

“I’m Jisung.” He turns to walk away. “Be right back.” A low exclamation of bewilderedness came out of you before you called out to him again.

“I already know that, dummy!” He unconsciously grins at that. You were so odd. 

And Jisung starts to think that he likes odd.

MASTERTAG ━ STATUS: OPEN — ASK OR COMMENT 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @wnbnny @xocandyy @minluvly @moon0fthenight @estellaluna @hanjsquokka @starlostastronaut @minsueng @l3visbby @myjisung @thecutiepieme

[strnilolover]

⋆.˚ Don’t Run .ᐟ

♫ Don’t Run • Corbyn Besson

warnings : unresolved angst, break up, argument, crying, guilt, matts pov, tiny sprinkle of asshole matt (sorry), mentions of drinking, mentions of sleeping with multiple people, hurt with a sprinkle of comfort, and more.

a/n : angsty time. I absolutely love Corbyn (i used to be a wdw fan) and just listening to this song made me think of an angst thing for matt. again, angst is not my strong suit! so sorry if it’s not the best. (i hope this makes you guys cry at least a little 🥰)

The memory of the fight still played on a loop in Matt’s head like a bad song stuck on repeat. It was supposed to be a regular night, one of those long, exhausting ones after a day of filming.

Matt had just wrapped up editing, a process that always left him on edge when it was his turn instead of Nicks or Chris’. His brothers had already gone to bed, the apartment quiet except for the hum of his computer and the soft notifications buzzing on his phone.

You had walked into his room with that look — the one that told him you had something heavy on your mind, the weight of the conversation already thick between you both.

“We need to talk, Matt,” you said, voice wavering slightly, like you were trying to gather the courage to finish your sentence. He didn’t even turn around at first, fingers tapping away at his keyboard as if he could escape whatever storm was brewing behind him.

“Can it wait?” he muttered, eyes not leaving the screen. “I’m almost done here.”

You took a breath, sighing.“No, it can’t,” you insisted, voice soft but firm. “We keep putting it off, and I can’t pretend everything’s fine anymore.”

He sighed heavily, closing his eyes for a second before turning to face you. “What’s wrong?” he asked, though his tone carried exhaustion more than genuine curiosity.

“Matt, you’re never here,” you started, taking a shaky breath. “Not really. I know you’re busy, but I feel like I’m always waiting for you to show up. And when you do, you’re just so... distant.” your teeth tucked your bottom lip between them, chewing slightly.

“What are you talking about?” Matt frowned, confusion and defensiveness rising within him. “I’m not distant. I’m working — this is what I do. It’s my job.” his tone coming out a little harsher than intended.

“I know,” you said softly, “but you’re more than your job, Matt. At least, you used to be. And now, it’s like I’m just another part of your day that you have to get through.” you stated, your face now burning with the force to hold back your tears.

“That’s not fair,” he shot back, shaking his head. “You know I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. We’re trying to grow the channel more, and that takes time and effort.” he defended, the harsh edge still there.

“I get that,” you replied, your voice shaking slightly, continuing to hold back your tears. “But you can’t keep using that as an excuse to shut me out.”

“Shut you out?” Matt’s voice rose unintentionally, frustration creeping in. He caught himself and softened his tone, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “I’m not trying to shut you out. I’m just trying to keep everything from falling apart.”

You shook your head. “I never asked you to fix everything,” you whispered, and he could see your resolve breaking. “I just wanted you to care enough to show up for me, too.”

He stood there, struggling to find the right words. “What do you want me to do?” he asked, sounding almost defeated. “Quit? Stop doing what I love?”

“No, Matt,” you said, tears streaming down your face now. “I want you to fight for me, the way you fight for everything else.”

The silence that followed was deafening. He looked at you, seeing the raw hurt in your eyes, and his stomach twisted with the realization of just how far apart you both had grown.

“I didn’t know it was this bad,” he admitted, voice cracking slightly.

You wiped at your cheeks, frustration mingling with sadness. “You never asked, Matt. You never noticed.”

He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. Panic started to creep in as he saw you pulling away, the finality of the moment settling heavily on his chest. “Wait — wait, just... we can fix this,” he pleaded, stepping closer, but you shook your head, taking a step back.

“I can’t keep waiting for you to choose me, Matt,” you choked out. “I love you, but I can’t keep pretending that love is enough to make up for feeling so alone.”

Matt’s breathing quickened, his eyes widening as the weight of your words sank in. “No, no, please, don’t do this,” he begged, reaching out to grab your hand, but you pulled away. “I’ll change, I’ll do whatever it takes, okay? Just don’t leave.”

Your voice trembled as you responded, “It’s not just about changing, Matt. It’s about knowing that I matter to you, and right now, I don’t feel like I do.” your voice cracked, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you sniffled.

“You do matter,” he insisted, his voice desperate and raw. “You matter more than anything. I just — I didn’t realize how much I was screwing this up. Please, just give me a chance to fix it.”

Your silence and sniffles was the only answer he got, and he could see the pain etched into every line of your face. “Goodbye, Matt,” you whispered, voice breaking as you turned and walked out of the room.

“Wait — please,” he called after you, voice cracking as he took a step toward you, but you didn’t stop. The door closed softly behind you, and Matt felt the ground crumble beneath him.

-

It was seven in the morning, and Matt was staring at the ceiling, the light from the window seeping through the cracks in the blinds. The early morning quiet didn’t give him the solace he’d hoped for. Clothes lay in disarray across the floor, some his, some not his — reminders of choices that never filled the ache in his chest.

He turned his head slightly, watching the figure sleeping beside him, a tangle of dark hair and skin that wasn’t yours. But his mind, God, it betrayed him. Every movement in the sheets, every breath that wasn’t your soft sigh haunted him.

The pain of that night never really left him. It clung to him like a shadow, and he hated himself for letting you go. But he couldn’t bring himself to admit it out loud, not when the damage was already done. So he drowned himself in anything and anyone that wasn’t you, hoping it would numb the ache in his chest.

Baby, she ain’t you.

A bitter chuckle slipped past his lips as he closed his eyes, blocking out the world he was trying too hard to pretend he wanted. The way she shifted closer made his skin crawl with guilt, with the incessant buzzing of his mind screaming that this wasn’t what he needed.

He could practically hear you in the back of his head, that knowing voice echoing through the cracks of his resolve, warning him, like you always did, when he was doing something that would hurt him in the long run.

But he ignored it. He always ignored it. Trying to force a needle through skin that never belonged to him in the first place, grasping at someone else because he couldn’t hold onto you.

Matt slid out of the bed, grabbing his jeans off the chair and shoving them on, the harsh sound of a zipper loud in the silence. He didn’t look back; he couldn’t. Stumbling out of the door, he let it close softly behind him, letting the other girl stay asleep, oblivious to the mess he was internally drowning in.

His phone was warm in his hand, and it shook as he tapped open your contact, thumb hovering over the call button. It was so simple — just one tap, and he could hear your voice, maybe hear the softness it used to hold when you whispered his name, or the anger that he deserved when he left you standing in the pouring rain, shattered and holding onto every piece he threw away.

But what if you didn’t want to hear it anymore?

He locked his phone and stuffed it into his back pocket. The hangover made his vision blur at the edges, and his heart thumped heavily with the beat of regret in his chest. He knew drinking and getting girls into his bed was not a good way to cope with his feelings. It had been months since that night, and he was only serving to hurt himself worse.

Was this what it felt like to need someone? He had never felt the desperation like this, the longing, the brokenness that came from knowing you lost the one thing that could keep you steady.

My heart’s been stuck at a red light since you said we’re done.

Matt was back at his apartment — when did he get here?, he doesn’t know. Everything blurring together as his mind just went on autopilot. The cold still silence was more suffocating than the noise of the city.

He could still feel the weight of your memory around him, wrapped in the Prada perfume you used to wear. It lingered in the fibers of his hoodie, in the sheets he hadn’t washed since you left. He buried his face in the fabric, trying to remember what it felt like to hold you, to be someone who made you stay.

“I can change,” he whispered into the emptiness, voice breaking. “If promises still mean the same, I can change.” But the room didn’t answer. It only offered the suffocating rush of memories and the cruel bite of loneliness.

He closed his eyes, flashes of you overwhelming him — the way you laughed, bright and full, even when he was too wrapped up in his own darkness to appreciate it. The way you said his name, like he was your safe place, your home. He remembered how your voice cracked when you broke things off, when you turned away with tears in your eyes, and he was too much of a coward to stop you.

He couldn’t even fake it, the weight of his mistakes pressing down with every breath. He could still hear the gunshots from the last movie night you two had, his fingers intertwined with yours until he pulled away. The pain was like those casings — empty, spent, and irreversible. Maybe you had already moved on; maybe you found someone who didn’t take your presence for granted, who didn’t make you run.

But he couldn’t stop missing you. He missed you like he needed air, like you were the last drop of water in a desert he willingly walked into.

Is this what it feels like to need someone?

He opened his phone again like he did earlier — eyes scanning over the multiple contacts of random women he has slept with. But he wasn’t focused on them, instead his fingers trembled as he opened your contact and started typing. The words came easily because they had been locked inside for too long, festering and aching to be let out.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. I can change, I promise. I miss you every day, in every way. Please, don’t run. I’m not ready for this to be over.

He hovered over the send button, heart hammering in his chest, a tightness in his throat making it hard to breathe. The minutes ticked by, each second dragging. But the fear of you not responding was enough to keep his thumb still.

Then the door to his room creaked open, and his heart jumped, thinking for one wild, desperate second that it might be you. But it wasn’t. It was Nick, looking worried, like he always did whenever Matt got like this.

“Matt, you okay?” Nick asked softly, stepping closer but not too close. Not wanting to risk the possibility of Matt telling him to go away — to leave him alone, when he knew he couldn’t just do that.

Matt froze for a moment swallowing hard. He shook his head, unable to speak, unable to express the loss that consumed him. His phone slipped from his grip, landing on the floor with a soft thud. The unsent message glowed in the dim light, a plea never spoken out loud.

“C’mere,” Nick muttered as he walked over and sat on the edge of his bed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, trying to offer the support Matt was too stubborn to ask for.

Matt buried his face in his hands, the tears coming faster now, the weight of the world finally breaking him. “She’s gone,” he choked out. “I let her go.”

Nick’s hand tightened around his shoulder, and for a while, they stayed like that, the only sounds in the room being Matt’s uneven breathing and the hum of city traffic outside.

Is this what it feels like to need someone?

He didn’t know if he could ever find the answer, but the only thing he knew for certain was that he wasn’t ready — and will never be ready to let you go.

[stardustprompts]

how to sell a haunted house - grady hendrix sentence starters change tenses/pronouns as needed !!  some lines have been edited for clarity / length / ease of roleplaying tw ; death , alcohol , language , mental health

‘you need to sit down.’

‘what did you do?’

‘jesus, i’m sorry I’m not doing it the right way. i’m sure you’d be perfect at this.’

‘I find knowing these details makes it easier.’

‘you should have a drink, too.’

‘i’m not going to die. not for a long time.’

‘just because we shared a bathroom for fifteen years doesn’t mean you know a thing about me.’

‘my yoga instructor knows more about me than you do.’

‘I knew you’d do this. I knew you’d show up and start telling everyone what to do.’

‘look, I know you need to be in charge, but I’ve taken care of this.’

‘stop telling me how to deal with things. things are dealt with. I dealt with them.’

‘you can’t argue with someone when they’re upset.’

‘I don’t know what got into me, but I overreacted and I’m not proud of if it, and it wasn’t fair to you.’

‘you always needed everyone looking at you.’

‘I didn’t do it for attention. I did it because I was upset.’

‘I don’t like coming in here anyways. it’s got bad vibes.’

‘you can’t put a price tag on love.’

‘being here is really bad for my mental health.’

‘I know you don’t like me because i’m not successful enough for you.’

‘i’m actually happy with my life.’

‘if we aren’t related, if we met today, we wouldn’t chose to be friends.’

‘I don’t think we should be in here at all. I think my plan was better.’

‘don’t you feel the vibes?’

‘this is happening too fast. we need to slow down.’

‘your house is haunted.’

‘every single time I give you the benefit of the doubt, or I try to help, it comes back and bites me in the ass. every! single! time!’

‘our house is not haunted.’

‘i’m telling you there’s weird vibe. I can feel it in my gut.’

‘methinks thou doth protesteth too much.’

‘ghosts don’t exist.’

‘there are true things and there are false things, and there are no in-betweens.’

‘there are facts, like houses and car accidents and cremation, and there’s bullshit like ghosts and vibes and exorcisms. and if you start getting the true things mixed up with the false things, you’re fucked!’

‘reality is not a consensus!’

‘when you don’t like the way a conversation is going you deflect with personal attacks.’

‘you’re like some kind of emotionally abusive octopus entangling everyone in your word tentacles.’

‘even I know that you don’t go back in a haunted house after dark.’

‘the only things here are memories, and those can’t hurt us.’

‘you’re very threatened by new ideas.’

‘I offered to stay tonight because I thought it would be good for you. i’m hoping it gives you some closure.’

‘why are you so mad at me? is it because you feel guilty?’

‘i’m sorry you remember it that way because that must feel terrible, but that’s not what happened.’

‘stop telling me what I remember!’

‘no one ever says no to you, (name) because we’re all scared you’re going to lose your temper.’

‘oh, fuck you. nice try, (name), but fuck you.’

‘no matter what you did, I still don’t want anything bad to happen to you.’

‘everything has to be a big production and you’re the star.’

‘everything has to be a big production and you’re the star. all because you can’t face the fact that your life is sad and empty.’

‘it’s a little late for you to start being my brother now.’

‘you blew my mind. it felt like we were the only two people left in the world.’

‘no matter what, I don’t want to ditch you here with a bunch of ghosts.’

‘right now what you need, for once in your life, is to listen to me.’

‘the way you’re laughing is actually really, really scary.’

‘none of this is real.’

‘stop being scary.’

‘I don’t think I’m well. I think something is really wrong inside me.’

‘don’t you fucking laugh at me. for the first time ever, my life finally makes sense.’

‘I don’t think I know what’s real anymore.’

‘my explanation is logically consistent. yours is all magical energy.’

‘it was absolutely terrifying.’

‘how much trouble are you in?’

‘look at me. you’re not crazy. this really happened.’

‘don’t make this funny.’

everything you’ve seen tonight, i’ve seen it too.’

‘i’m sorry I wasn’t stronger.’

‘it was easier to pretend nothing happened.’

‘my entire life I’ve always known something was wrong with me. i’ve spend my entire life scared that if didn’t do everything exactly right, reality would unravel around me and I’d lose myself again.’

‘I forgive you.’

‘I hope you feel better. i’m fine.’

‘I didn’t think you had it in you.’

‘get out of here.’

‘all the things I did, I want to forget.’

‘i’m not doing it! i’m not doing it again!’

‘you need to get out of here right now.’

‘it won’t hurt me, but it’ll hurt you. you have to go right now!’

‘don’t let him do this again. don’t let him take over.’

‘I need a beer.’

‘an apology would go a long way.’

‘can you keep it down? I had to lie about what happened to a lot of people.’

‘are you seriously upset with me because I saved your life?’

‘you need to accept reality.’

‘you’ve become such a grouch.’

‘I wish you’d let someone take care of you.’

‘do you agree that there are forces greater than this world and we are helpless in the face of them?’

‘we don’t have time to fuck around.’

‘i’d like to say this the weirdest shit that’s ever happened to me but I have a bad feeling it’s about to get a lot worse.’

‘I told you this was a bad idea.’

‘I think we’re fucked.’

‘this is wrong. what you’re doing is wrong.’

‘let’s talk about something that’s actually interesting.’

‘it just hurts a little. and by ‘a little’ I mean ‘a lot’ and also ‘all the time.’’

[ryker-writes]

I just read your *Azul as a sibling (Broken relationship edition)** and I had an extra angst thought. Just like a second route. But extra extra angst.

⚠️Death mentioned⚠️

The moment the twins stopped his bullies it went to the sibling. They got bully for how they looked, acted, eat just anything and everything they did. Well he seem to gain self-confidence, they lost their own self-confidence. Once they were in same dorm maybe that will change! They thought maybe their brother would still love them! But… if he’s there, brother, why can’t they call him that? Why, when he sees how they’re being treated.. walks away? He could tell her being bullied right? But when they were forced to work at the lounge, they just excepted it. Maybe it’s best to just accept how life is… meaningless. No one would notice if they were gone? No no if they do that, it would just cause more inconvenience for their broth- right Azul. So they can’t, they just have to help Azul by not making trouble for him.

After Azul overblot, they didn’t think anything would change for them. At first it didn’t. But slowly the bullying stopped and they started getting less work hours more… free time. Azul seemed to always be around them but it’s probably just a coincidence. He wouldn’t want to hang out with someone like them. They aren’t anything special. So why is he trying to talk to them? Why does he seem to care? He’s not supposed to care for them! He’s trying to get close to hurt them isn’t he?! To hurt them… To watch them cry just so he can laugh. Wait… why are they crying black… tears? Oh… ha they’re overbloting… in front of Azul… they just caused him a ton of inconveniences didn’t they? Maybe if lucky they won’t wake up. That would help Azul wouldn’t it? Then he doesn’t have to always stop people from calling them his sibling… and just dealing with them all together.

Can I be 💜 anon?? If not that’s fine! Sorry my first inbox interaction is hmm… angsts hah. I just had to share.

Yes! I finally got to your request my dear 💜 anon! I hope you can forgive me if I end up bending it a little bit to not make this as dark. While I don't mind it being dark, it sort of sounds like the reader is a bit suicidal, which I don't want to write about. So the story might be bent a little bit to avoid that.

Request rules and Masterlists

If you missed the other parts you can find it on my broken sibling masterlist

warnings: angst, reader has low self-esteem, thoughts and mentions of death

Azul as a sibling (alternate broken relationship)

you and Azul used to be close

he would always get picked on when you two were kids

but you were always there to defend him

for a long time, you were his best and only friend

until he met the Leech twins

they became his friends and started defending him from the bullies

and while you're happy that Azul got some actual friends, he started hanging out with you less

you wouldn't have minded it as long as he made time for you somewhere

but he didn't even hang out with you at home anymore

to make everything worse, the bullies realized they couldn't target Azul anymore

but now that you were alone, they could target you

and they were ruthless

being alone made you vulnerable every second of every day

everything you did, every step you took, and every part of you was made fun of

it made every day difficult

and you watched from the side as Azul started to get more confident in himself

at times he wouldn't even rely on the twins to help him with things

Azul was shining just like you always knew he would

and you were left behind in the background to be picked apart every day

years went by, and it was finally time for the both of you to attend Night Raven College

Azul and you both got placed in Octavinelle too!

so you had hope that things would be better

and maybe you could talk to Azul again

but the second you walked up to him and called him brother, he was nearly shouting at you not to call him that

why?

why couldn't you call him brother?

you couldn't understand

things got worse too

being at Night Raven College means that the bullies were always there

and there was no escape from them

even in your own dorm, with your classmates and brother there

they still made fun of you and tore you down

everyone just turned a blind eye, even Azul

like you weren't there

like you didn't matter

surely he could tell you were being bullied right?

but he didn't seem to care

Azul barely even spared you a glance during the day

even when he made you work for him, you never got to meet with him directly

instead, Azul would send Jade or Floyd to talk to you

so you worked every day and dealt with the bullies everyday

and you just had to accept that this was the way things were

you couldn't get out of it unless you were to run away from it all

but that would only cause more problems for Azul

that's the last thing you want

so you stayed, and you worked through all the pain

eventually, Azul overblotted

thankfully, he was fine and things continued like normal

at least, they did at first

and then one day, the bullies didn't show up

it was strange, but surely they would be back to normal tomorrow

...but they weren't

the bullies didn't come after you

in fact, when you saw them in one of the hallways, they avoided you

and on top of that, you started getting less work hours

you even saw Azul around more

almost like he was following you

but then he tried talking to you and asked how you were

why was he asking?

did he actually care?

there was no way

you were probably misinterpreting it

why would Azul want to talk with you?

you weren't worth his time

maybe he needed something from you

perhaps a contract to make your life worse

that's probably all he wanted

he never wants to help you

he's only here to make things harder

your cheeks started to feel wet

were you seriously crying?

reaching up, you wiped your tears only to see black

you were overblotting

and Azul looked panicked

you were seriously overblotting in front of him

you were only causing him more problems now

since you were overblotting there was a chance you could die

would that be better for Azul?

would that help him?

you didn't want to die

but does he want you to just go away?

would he want this?

you didn't know, but the black stains only grew

and eventually they clouded your vision

when you woke up next, you were in the infirmary

Azul was sitting in a chair next to the bed, and looking very tired

he noticed you were awake and looked up at you

no words were said between the two of you

but you cried again

this time, with real tears

[babydollmarauders]

MEDIA MANAGEMENT — JACK HUGHES (PART SEVEN)

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5- 5.5 - 6 - 7

y/ndevils00

liked by jackhughes, ehaula, and 28,628 others

y/ndevils00 hello everyone, welcome back to your postgame recap: blackhawks edition! unfortunately everyone’s favorite WAG (sorry girls) and social media manager: me, was unable to attend this road-trip due to illness. however, i, of course, still watched this game and have many a comments!

first, what the hell were these boys doing in first period that they couldn’t get a single goal against the blackhawks? had me yelling at the tv!

however, my favorite gingersnap got the first goal of the night 6:19 into the second period! GO HAM! I’M SO PROUD!

following that up, my uncle (we are still not related in any way) got his 11th goal of the season, tying up the game! really had me haula-ing! (get it? haula-ing? hollering? whatever!)

mere minutes after, my dear sweet boqy scored, making us end the second period up by 1!

we opened 3rd period with a camera shot of my boyfriend. that is the face of someone who misses his wonderful girlfriend and cannot wait to come home and take care of her while she is sick (jack come home. i think i need you more than they do.)

we kicked off 3rd period scoring with a goal by mr. edward cullen himself! he really does sparkle, doesn’t he! who knew vamps were so good at hockey?

with not even 4 minutes left in the game, we got an amazing wrap around shot by timo, who has yet to insult me again! i feel like a proud mother!

and lastly, my sweet baby, mercy put the nail in the coffin for this game with an empty net goal, bringing the final score to 6-3! dawson, you have never let me down, unlike your brother, john.

closing off this post, we have some adorable shots of captain swiss and lil jizzy with blackwood.

p.s. i’d like to bring everyone’s attention to my boyfriend’s hand. that’s my favorite hand, because it holds mine <3 jack come home, i have separation anxiety

tagged dougieham, ehaula, jesperboqvist, jackhughes, ryangraves27, tmeier96, dawson1417 and nicohischier

user oh no! i hope you feel better :(

john.marino97 i didn’t even do anything in this game and you still find a way to insult me

y/ndevils00 that’s exactly WHY i insulted you. do better.

jackhughes for once, you actually got what i was thinking about right

y/ndevils00 i’ve been saying you were thinking about me for so long, i was bound to be right eventually

jackhughes i miss you pretty girl

y/ndevils00 aww shucks, you’re making me blush 🤭

jackhughes nevermind never say that again

jackhughes you like my hand? you’re such a sap

y/ndevils00 let’s try that again

jackhughes i like your hand too?

y/ndevils00 why thank you! is it because it holds yours?

jackhughes dawson tells me i should say yes

y/ndevils00 well at least dawson understands how to be affectionate

ehaula i’m begging you to stop using my name as a pun

y/ndevils00 and i’m begging you to hop off my dick

dawson1417 @/y/ndevils00 y/n….

y/ndevils00 i mean, no, thank you. i would like to keep making my puns if that’s okay with you

ehaula since you asked so nicely.. still no

y/ndevils00 @/dawson1417 how do i work with this?

dawson1417 @/y/ndevils00 you stop making the puns?

y/ndevils00 @/dawson1417 i can’t do that

user67 sick y/n is so lovey, jack better get home asap

dougieham thank you, y/n!

y/ndevils00 you’re so welcome! now, will you bring me wawa when you guys get back?

dougieham i will. but does jack not feed you?

y/ndevils00 i don’t like his food

jackhughes @/y/ndevils00 you know i can see this right?

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes no you can’t. this is a private conversation

jackhughes @/y/ndevils00 it’s really not

ryangraves27 i’m still not a vampire

y/ndevils00 i’ve never seen you eat garlic so i cannot rule it out as a possibility

ryangraves27 you’ve also never seen me drink blood though

y/ndevils00 look, i don’t know what you’re into

ryangraves27 i’m so confused

dawson1417 y/n, what do we say to marino?

y/ndevils00 @/john.marino97 i’m sorry and i love you both equally 🙄

john.marino97 @/y/ndevils00 this seems anything but genuine

y/ndevils00 dawson, he’s onto us! what do i do?

dawson1417 well i can tell you what you don’t do: that!

tmeier96 i think i learned my lesson from last time. i’ll never insult you again

y/ndevils00 good. actions have consequences and you’d do good to remember that!

nicohischier ❤️❤️

y/ndevils00 you are my favorite, swiss cheese

nicohischier i’m revoking my hearts

y/ndevils00 it’s too late, i already have them they’re mine now

[da-shrimping-station]

Duel Day Drabble

A/N: so i saw on Karasu that it was duel day and honestly? that's cool af i wanna see demons throw hands but ofc we can't get that in game and i can't write for shit but i did my best with this one. hope y'all like it (o yea my MC is there too)

437 words no warnings

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────

They were fast. Too fast for human eyes that if it weren’t for the enchanted glasses that Solomon gave, Aren wouldn’t be able to follow the two figures.

Duel Day was coming soon and there was a strange buzz in the air. Aren thinks it’s gotten to Lucifer more so than his brothers. 

“For old time’s sake,” Lucifer had said, coat off and sword in hand. Aren expected something fancier for Lucifer’s weapon and they’re sure that must’ve been the case when he was a seraph. The blade in his hand was barely decorated but wickedly sharp, curving slightly at the tip. Aren thinks his pride lies in his swordsmanship and not the sword itself.

“If you put it that way, I suppose I can’t decline.” Simeon had also taken his white cape off, neatly folding it before handing it to Luke. Aren had seen his rapier before. An elegant sword with a delicate looking guard that swirled and twisted like a ribbon. What surprised Aren was the dagger on his other hand. A parrying dagger, Solomon told them.

Aren expected to see a swordfight like the one in video games or movies but they were quite surprised. 

Their blades clashed quick and brief, metal clanging in a harmonious cacophony as the spar went on. The exchanges were brief too. The mere flick of a wrist could decide whether or not a hit landed. And when it did, they disengaged, assessing the damage, and taking up stances to engage again. The pair had an increasing number of shallow cuts, mostly on their limbs, with each passing round.

Simeon darts forward, arm and sword extended, aiming for Lucifer’s neck. The fallen angel parries, blades sliding off of each other with a shriek. He steps back, avoiding the rapier tip as Simeon tries for another stab. The tip nicked his horn and Lucifer hissed. They disengaged.

“Was that too hard?” Simeon approaches to inspect the damage. There was a noticeable groove near the base of the left horn. “Oh no.”

“I suppose I forgot to take account of my horns when I dodged. You caught me off guard. You almost never go for the head.”

The brothers came running, crowding the eldest to see the cut. It was negligible and it barely stung and they know their brother can take more than that but Lucifer got hit. Satan couldn’t contain his smug grin and Luke can’t stop gushing about Simeon’s swordsmanship. Aren watched with amusement as they got more rowdy, DDD in hand to snap pictures.

Solomon, being the little shit he was, decided to open his mouth.

“So it’s time to settle the bets?”

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────

ough fight sceeeenes!!! difficult to write but i do enjoy them

i hope i did a decent job :D barely proofread and edited this i yeeted it here the moment i was done sorry in advance

also how tf can you eyeball how good your dividers look

[bobbybutterfly]

It’s been over 2 weeks since I last posted. Well. I hope that these four pieces were worth the wait.

Mulori! Boy I’m proud of this piece! I tried experimenting with colour by using warmer colours for shadows and cool colours for lights. She’s really giving angel of war descending from the heavens.

What to say about Mulori? Her death! You’re telling me that scout Gosemdouchi got a whole ass music video dedicated to him and Mulori gets NOTHING?! I’m outraged. But her edition of In the Years I Spent Far From Home is just so beautiful. Now I’m writing about it, I’m not sure if they made a separate cover for when she sings it in Operation White Snow or she was always singing it. Non the less it slaps.

Interesting was to see she’s shown often with Commander Gosemdouchi. He personally sends her off on her mission to stop the weasel spies (I’m sorry I don’t remember the name of their group). He cries when she dies, proclaiming they should fire their missiles for Mulori. The reason why I find it interesting is that when I went to write a short story about Mulori’s time in the military, I made them have a let’s say weird relationship. Maybe it got saved in my unconscious memory. Just like with Udochi being scout Gosemdouchi’s younger brother LOL. I thought I made that up but no!

I should maybe go back to that story sometime. Probably change Commander Gosemdouchi to a lower rank hedgehog that still has authority over her. A country leader would not have time to bully some low rank scout. Even though it is quite funny when I think about it.

Oewepali! I got told that this piece lacks depth because I use the same colours in the foreground and background. That’s a problem in all my pieces. It’s my fault for trying to use a very limited colour palette. Also what happened to his left arm and now that I’m looking at it, where’s his tail? The lighting too is… With the lighting in these pieces I wasn’t thinking about where it would logically go. I just made the lighter parts where they would look good compositionally. Yeah. I’m not that proud of the last two pictures.

As for what I think of this character… I originally thought that he got some developmental disability. I thought it would be interesting to write about a character during war that doesn’t really understand what’s going on. Kinda like Forest Gump. After rewatching the series (I still have to rewatch last two episodes) I came to the conclusion that he’s neurotypical but bullied by his brothers into thinking that he’s stupid. In the later episodes he’s shown to be actually quite capable. If I ever write a story featuring him I might give him like dyslexia though. I imagine he and his brothers went through a lot of trauma. Because he was the youngest and maybe had difficulty with learning they picked on him to let their frustration out.

Mulsajo! That’s right! I know his name now! I drew his paw like that because it was like that in the reference. I don’t really like it but I don’t have an idea how I would change it. I did change though, his teeth. My mom shown me rodent teeth because she didn’t like the mice have cat fangs. So he is a little more anatomically correct. Ignore the dog nose and that he’s anthropomorphic. LOL.

I took just so many screenshots! I should sometime post them. I love how they’re drawn in this picture! SO CUTE!

Mulsajo has one of the best designs in the show. The ripped up purple shirt is iconic. It was a while since I’ve seen the episodes with him. Before rewatching the show I thought he was a decent guy. Then I rewatch the show and he’s so mean to poor Oewepali. Dude can’t get a break. My head cannon still is that he’s nice but because they were starving, he’s aloud to be a bit grumpy. He’s also spiritual. Giving us one of the funnier jokes when Oewepali asks if he can eat the big fish only to be told no and then complain that Mulmangcho should have died earlier. This show’s dark humour is pretty great.

I want to develop my own mythology for my AU. Such as the mouse kings being descended from the sea god because Mulmangcho (he’s a king in exile in my AU) is often shown by the sea. It’s something I was thinking about when I drew this piece. It’s also inspired by Mulsajo’s death. Now if we’re talking about a main side character dying, Mulsajo has it the worst. He is never mentioned again in season 1. If you didn’t pay attention you wouldn’t have noticed he died. He is only sort of mentioned in season 2 episode 1. Mulmangcho is in disguise as a squirrel making up stories about what the wolves did to him and his family. He mentions his twelve dead brothers and how they cut off his tail. You begin to realise that he’s talking about what Flower Hill did to him. Obviously the moral is to never trust strangers no matter what they tell you. But I like to view it as a rare sympathetic scene for Mulmangcho. If someone was to write a continuation of season 2 I would like to see them expand on that scene.

Also fan art idea to design Mulmangcho’s 11 other dead brothers?

Last one up is Scout Gosemdouchi. Please don’t pay much attention to the plane. I really got to do some airplane studies. For the background I tried something more graphic and non literal. Lots of people I shown it to think he’s jumping out of the plane.

I actually have some trauma dumping I want to do. I swear it’s related to Squirrel and Hedgehog. If you don’t want to hear me whine about my catholic trauma then skip the next paragraph.

Alright then. Let’s get on with it. So I was like 8 years old. Our whole catholic school went to church. The priest starts preaching about this “real” story from China. The communists were cracking down on Christians. Some soldiers trashed a church. Taking special care the throw the Eucharist on the ground and stomp it with their muddy boots. Later a little girl would sneak into the boarded up church and lick the Eucharist off the ground. One day a soldier noticed her doing that AND SHOT HER ON SIGHT! Lesson? Be willing to die for your god.

I guess I like the cartoon because it reminds me of my childhood. LOL. Be sure to share your stories of childhood indoctrination in the comments! For real though, scout Gosemdouchi’s and Mulori’s deaths are to me the grossest parts of Squirrel and Hedgehog. Luckily I’ve got my head cannons that sort of fix that for me.

Originally this was the first picture I talked about but I found what I had to say was quite depressing. Plus religion is a touchy subject. I hope I didn’t offend anyone. I’m just talking about my own experiences. Also it’s good to have it off my chest. Now I don’t have to think about it anymore! YAY!

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

The Same Page Part 4/?

Part 4 is finally here, enjoy!

Warnings: panic attack, I think that’s it. I’m not big on editing so there’s probably some mistakes.

Synopsis: you let your anger override your fear, and John is there to help.

Same Page Masterlist:

You didn’t dream the rest of the night.

When you awoke, you found that your anger was just as potent and alive that it had been in the middle of the night.

Mycroft was asleep in the chair beside your bed, Sherlock slumbering on your bed right by your side.

You knew how hard they were working to make you feel safe, but that didn’t change how much they had lied to you in the past two years. You weren’t ready to let that go just yet.

Your shaking fingers found your phone, and you pressed John’s number, relieved when he answered right away.

You got straight to the point.

“I need you.”

John didn’t hesitate.

“Where are you?”

“Mycroft’s.” You lowered your voice when the man in question stirred. “I can’t be here. With them. Not right now. Please come get me.”

“I’m on my way.”

…

John was nervous, not a feeling he was incredibly used to. He had faced down murderers, terrorists, basically every form taken by the scum of the earth, and yet none of that had prepared him for what had happened in his life the past two years.

As if losing his best friend to suicide wasn’t bad enough, he had to watch you, the girl who had become like a little sister to him, spiral into a depression that nearly destroyed you, and nearly destroyed him to watch.

And now that the person who had caused all that pain—albeit for a good reason—was finally back, he knew you had to be just as angry as him—if not more. That wasn’t something he was used to. He almost never saw you angry—he was always the hothead at Baker Street, never you.

But this was different.

You slid into the car the second John slowed to a stop in Mycroft’s driveway.

“Do they know you’re leaving?”

“Just drive.”

John hesitated. “They’re going to-“

“John. Drive.” He saw your clenched fists, your narrowed eyes, and your tense jaw, and knew that he had never seen you this angry before. It wasn’t something he was about to mess with. He stepped on the gas and the two of you journeyed away from Mycroft’s house.

“What happened?” John asked after several minutes of tense silence. Something had to have made you snap like this.

“I realized I was the only one,” you weren’t looking at John, your gaze directed out the window.

John frowned, “Not the only one. Only a handful of people knew-“

“The only Holmes.”

Oh.

“I’m sure they thought-“

“Mycroft was the one who told me the news. About—about the suicide,” you spat the word out, your teeth gritted in anger. “He watched me fall apart day after day for two years-“ your voice suddenly caught, your anger giving way to tears. “And my mum and dad…they knew, they knew all of it, and they let Mycroft lie to me. They lied to me,” this time when your voice broke off, you didn’t bother trying to start speaking again. The tears had overwhelmed you, and John watched helplessly as you cried into your hands next to him.

John pulled into the parking lot next to a cafe that you both liked, and he leaned over your armrest and wrapped his arms around your shaking frame.

“I’m so sorry.”

…

“I’m sure she’s alright.”

“Alright? Sherlock, you don’t understand, she hasn’t left this house in-“ Mycroft broke off, turning away from his brother to continue scouring your room for evidence to your whereabouts.

Another thing Sherlock wasn’t used to: being the calm one. But perhaps Mycroft was right, perhaps he wasn’t grasping the seriousness of the situation, because he wasn’t used to you being like this, not being able to care for yourself. You had always been rather independent, and Sherlock was all but certain that your grief wouldn’t have robbed you of that quality.

But perhaps he just didn’t understand you. He never had, not really.

But you always understood him. You were a quiet girl, so when Sherlock wanted someone to wow with his observations, you were a perfect listener, and when he went quiet for days on end, intent on his work, you would curl up on the sofa across from him and crack open a book, the two of you lapsing into comfortable silences.

You didn’t have his kind of intelligence, but you loved to listen to his ramblings about whatever case he was on, and every once in a while you would give him an angle that he hadn’t thought of. You weren’t a partner-in-crime the way John was, but you were good company, and you were very patient with him, a quality not found in most people Sherlock met.

But more than any of that, you were his baby sister, and while he had never completely grasped average human sentiment, he knew that he would rather die than see harm come to you. He wanted to see you safe and happy, the way you had been two years ago before Moriarty had robbed you of both.

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock snapped back into focus at his brother’s outburst.

“What?”

“Would you please just focus? I can’t have you distracted, not with her missing.”

Sherlock sighed impatiently.

“We don’t know for certain she’s missing. Just because she isn’t in the house doesn’t mean she’s lost. Have you tried John?”

“Yes. He doesn’t answer.”

“Well then there is your answer. He would have answered unless she asked him not to.”

Mycroft nodded. He may have been more accustomed to you in the past two years, but Sherlock knew John.

…

“That’s the third time he’s called.” John sounded almost worried. You didn’t care.

“I know, John. Just ignore him.”

The two of you had gone inside the cafe, and John was sipping on a cup of coffee while you picked at a muffin.

“I know you’re angry at him, but he’s going to be worried sick about you.”

You didn’t bother with a response to this.

John sighed, “So what now?”

You look up at him, biting your lip. You really hadn’t thought any of this out.

“I don’t know, I guess. I just needed some space.”

“You’re going to have to face him. Both of them.”

“Can’t I just stay with you for a little while?”

John hesitated. He didn’t think it was a good idea, but he also knew how stubborn you could be. If he denied you, you might just push harder.

“Alright. For a bit.”

You smiled at him, and the two of you fell into silence for a while.

“They care about you.”

You were surprised by John’s sudden change in demeanor. His eyes were like laser beams, hyper focused on you, and his sudden analysis made you squirm.

“I know that. But they-“

“What would you have done, in their condition?”

You stared back at John, meeting his gaze.

“Why are you asking me this? Don’t I have a right to be hurt by what they did?”

“Of course you do. But this, what you’re doing now, isn’t going to solve anything. You know that they only acted to protect you, and even though their actions hurt you, their intentions were out of love. You trying to hurt them back won’t fix what’s happened.”

You shake your head, “I’m not trying to hurt them back. I just…I don’t think I can-“

“You don’t want to face them, I get it. But you have to. They’re your brothers, and they care for you. Forgive them.”

You stared at John, and he stared back. While your resolve seemed to be wavering, his was rock solid.

You hated what Sherlock and Mycroft had done to you.

But you couldn’t find it in you to hate them.

Your resolve cracked, and with it, your anger.

A smile crept across your face.

“And I suppose punching Sherlock was going to change something?”

A soft chuckle escaped John’s lips.

“No, no it wasn’t. But it was fun.”

You laughed, the first real laugh in…

Well, in a while.

“Was he surprised? When you hit him?”

John’s laugh grew to a full out belly-laugh.

“It was the most picturesque example of cartoon shock, you should have seen-“

John froze. You weren’t laughing anymore, not really. You had a smile on your face, but it seemed frozen, almost a grimace. John knew that look, that polite, forced smile of yours. He hated it when you used it on him.

“What’s with the face? What’s wrong, are you ok?” He didn’t want you hiding anything from him.

“I-um,” you gulped, blinking rapidly. “I think I-I want to call Mycroft now.”

John felt a mixture of worry and relief. He was glad you seemed to be ready to start forgiving your brothers, but you seemed on the verge of a panic attack now.

You reached your hand out, and John left his seat to kneel next to yours, allowing you to latch onto his arm while he pulled out his cell phone.

“Alright, ok that’s great. I’m calling him now, just, can you breathe for me?”

You coughed out a shaky breath, and John smiled nervously at you as he pressed Mycroft’s number.

“Good, that’s good, again?” Just then Mycroft answered his phone.

“Where are you? Is-“

“The cafe near Baker Street, Sherlock knows it. Hurry,” John hung up on Mycroft and turned all his attention to you. “He’s on his way, with Sherlock, alright?”

You nodded, your eyes darting around the cafe as you lifted a hand up to rub your chest, your breath coming in quick gasps now.

John took both your hands in his, and spoke in a slow, even tone.

“Hey, look at me.” When your eyes met his, he smiled at continued. “This is a bit much, yeah? You haven’t been this far from Mycroft’s house in quite a while,” John was encouraged by your nod. Responding was a good sign. “Yeah, well that’s alright. I know you’re a bit overwhelmed, but there’s nothing to fear. I’m right here, I’m here for you, and Mycroft’s coming to take you home.”

“Are you John Watson?”

John turned instinctively at the sound of his name, and was alarmed to find a woman dressed suspiciously like a reporter standing over him.

“Now’s not a good time, give me some space please,” he tried to turn his attention back to you, but the reporter was insistent.

“How do you feel now that Sherlock Holmes is reported alive?”

“No comment, go away.”

Just then the reporter caught sight of you, and recognition lit up in her eyes.

Oh no.

“Y/N Holmes!”

You flinched at the sound of your name, and you tried to back away from the reporter, but your progress was stopped when the back of your chair hit the wall. John moved to stand in front of you.

“Y/N Holmes, how long have you known that your brother Sherlock is alive?”

“No no, no, stop it, leave her alone!” It was one thing to interrogate him, but John wasn’t about to let this reporter anywhere near you, especially not now.

“Did you help him fake his suicide? Was Mycroft Holmes in on it? Did Sherlock murder Jim Moriarty?” The reporter was trying to move around John now, elbowing her way closer to you.

You were hyperventilating now, one hand wrapped around your knees while the other was grasping for John’s. John instantly moved to grab your hand, but he was beaten to it.

“Back away, unless you’d like to lose your job.” Mycroft Holmes put himself between you and the reporter, grasping your small hand in his and carefully pulling you to your feet. Sherlock was right behind him, holding your shaking frame up with an arm around your shoulder and guiding you toward the door, where John could see Mycroft’s car waiting outside.

“Mr. Homes! I just have a few-“

Neither Mycroft nor Sherlock even bothered to respond, they simply ushered you outside with John right on their heels.

…

Once safe and sound in his car, Mycroft finally turned his full attention to you, quickly analyzing your condition. Quick, shallow breathing, darting eyes, shaking like a leaf. It wasn’t good.

It also could’ve been worse, though. Your hand was gripping tightly to his, and your eyes seemed to finally be focusing on him.

“Mycroft…” he was relieved to hear you speak, it was a good sign. He let you fall into his arms, and when you did he pressed his hand to the side of your head and leaned you against his chest.

“Breathe when I breathe, alright?”

You followed his example perfectly, it was an exercise you were quite used to.

Mycroft noticed Sherlock staring at him, shock and discomfort distorting his features. Mycroft understood the look. If he had seen himself like this two years ago, he wouldn’t even recognize himself.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love his siblings, it was just that showing it had never been something he had been comfortable with.

Sherlock’s “death” had forced him to almost permanently vacate his comfort zone.

He was not a touchy-feely man, and he did not believe in babying you simply because you were his sister. But when you had fallen to pieces after Sherlock left you, Mycroft had quickly realized that if he didn’t change some of his ways, you might just never be able to pull yourself back together again.

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft came back to himself when he heard your soft voice. “I shouldn’t have-have left. I wasn’t thinking.”

Mycroft shook his head, “Don’t apologize. You were upset, I understand.” He pulled you away from him and brushed your short hair away from your face, “how are you feeling?”

Your small hands gripped onto his.

“Better now.”

…

Sherlock was relieved when Mycroft’s car pulled into his driveway. The small car felt even smaller when he was stuck watching you and Mycroft. Your bond was something he didn’t understand, and he wasn’t used to not understanding Mycroft.

When the car pulled to a stop, you seemed recovered enough to walk inside, Mycroft letting you hold onto his arm the whole way. When the two of you were gone, Sherlock turned to John.

“Thank you. For watching her, that was…good.”

John gave a weak smile.

“I care about her too. You take care of her, she’s a good kid.”

“I know.”

John turned to leave, but hesitated.

“She’ll forgive you soon enough. She loves you guys.”

Sherlock allowed a smile to cross his face.

“Thank you.”

Taglist:

@navs-bhat @chaoticglitterkitten

[catsthepope]

HEY FNAF FANS I WROTE A THING

This will be included later on, but will be edited. This is an EARLY DRAFT in light of the recent lore drop.

Michael was never meant to be caught in the experiments.

But when Evan begged him to do *one* nice thing for him and stay up so he could sleep, Mike called him a baby and coward. Evan can’t ask now.

Now he’s awake, kneeling by his brothers bed, and swearing not to sleep until Evan wakes up.

Imagine when he’s greeted by those same horrors his brother had described in his nightmares.

“Evan, Evan I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you,” I choked out as I clutched his hand. “I should’ve stopped. When you told me you were having nightmares. That should’ve been the line. You woke up sobbing.”

He was still. It was silent besides the beeping of the heart monitor. *His* heartbeat. All that was left telling me he was alive.

“This is all my fault. We just wanted to scare you. I didn’t want to lose you too,” I let myself fall to the ground, with his hand against my forehead. “I love you dude. You cant die on me. You’re so strong, Evan.”

I hurt you.

The clock chimed in the hall. Midnight.

I heard the hum of the aircon.

“I’ll stay here, like you wanted me to. I’m sorry,” I don’t need sleep, or food. I need to keep him safe.

He won’t be alone.

He won’t die. (and if he does it sure as hell won’t be alone.)

I need him.

Step.

“Dad?” I wiped the tears away from my eyes quickly. I don’t know how he wants me to feel, but the mix of disgust and pride is something I can’t imagine being normal.

Step.

I grabbed the flashlight from Evan’s nightstand as I rushed to the door. It was the right one. I flicked the light on.

What the fuck was *that*?!

The decayed version of what I assume was Fredbear? I think? Scurried away before I could make it out fully. I looked back at Evan as the realization hit me.

His nightmares.

They weren’t nightmares, were they?

You don’t listen, do you?

“I should’ve believed you. But I’m here now, I’ll protect you now,” I sat down at the foot of his bed, listening for any sound in the deafening silence.

I’m the reason he’s going to die.

(Filler)

I heard the clock chime as Evan’s nightlight flicked on and the animatronics dissolved into the darkness. I waited another 30 minutes before wandering out into the hall. I needed a drink. My head was spinning, but I noticed dad’s office door open. I know I shouldn’t open it.

I’ve never been in his office.

I pushed the door open.

Shit.

Evan’s room, but not just his room. This isn’t right, it can’t be. How are there more?! I almost choked on my breath as I turned away. I can’t confront dad, was he doing this to Evan the whole time?! He wouldn’t. He cares about us! He won’t hurt us, he’s our dad. He’s all we have left, right? I should call Henry, or Jere, or someone. Anyone.

…

I can’t.

…

They saw me hurt him.

Even if he lives, he won’t be the same. You know that.

I’ve killed my brother.

…

No.

Is dad going to let my brother die?

I won’t let him die. I won’t be the reason he dies.

I need him.

He’s all I have left.

[keithtopia]

Currently thinking about having an arranged marriage with Leon 😮‍💨

Leon Dompteur x Princess!Reader

Just imagine you were a princess of one of the boarding nations around Rhodolite, and in order to establish peace (or some other reason) you have an arranged marriage to Leon.

You’re very much the beauty of Jade/Benitoite/Obsidian and very much fawned over. You, my love, are a goddess among royalty.

I can see Leon having a very civilized approach to your marriage. He’ll be nice, give you a respectable amount of distance, and make conversation over tea. Leon would definitely not ignore you. He would always try his best to have his meals with you.

As time goes on, you definitely become closer and actually become good friends, and no longer have that awkward tension between the two of you. The two of you actually start to fall in love with one another, but are scared to act on those feelings.

He becomes worried when the pressure from the court comes about producing heirs. He is definitely nervous about bringing the subject up to you, this man fought in blood stained rose day but is scared to bring up the subject of a child up to his wife! He fights them off for as long as he can.

But it’s one day that your average group of assassins come into the Rhodolite palace. You were minding your own business in the palace, when you come face to face with one of them.

Thankfully your older brother gave you same self defense tips before you left home. You manage to take down your assailant and you come of of it with just a few scratches. When you’re getting inspected by the palace physician, your husband busts into the room, nearly taking the door off its hinges.

Caught up in his emotions, he can’t help but to cup your face and kiss you. Sure, the two of you shared a kiss on your wedding day, and kiss every so often to play the parts of husband and wife, but this one was different. This one was out of love, not necessity.

Soon the physician finishes up examining you, leaving you and your husband alone to discuss your feelings and how to move forward.

Nothing really changes in your daily routine, the only difference is that your love is no longer just for show, it was the real deal.

It doesn’t take too much longer for the Royal court to stop harassing your husband about producing heirs 👀

Sorry if this doesn’t make sense. It’s like 5 am when I’m posting. But this Leon arranged marriage brain rot was too stronk. I will maybe come back to improve/edit once I’m not running off of fumes!

[lewmagoo]

Ain’t no love In Oklahoma was fantastic!!

The excitement all 5 of them had before tragedy hit made what happened next all the more devastating 😭

“Rhett!” You sobbed, burying your face against his chest as he cautiously guided you away from the overhead doors. 

“I’ve got you!” He assured you, holding you tightly. He pulled you both to the damp ground, and you curled up beneath him as he laid his body atop your own. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

rhett being terrified but comforting the reader at the same time just warmed my heart

Rhett having to hold the reader back from going to see Lydia was absolutely gut wrenching 😭🤧

‘Rhett was on the verge of potentially losing his brother. And while his relationship with Perry had been tumultuous over the years, he cared about him deeply, and couldn’t stomach the thought of losing him.’ That part was so painful to read especially because rhett is such a family oriented guy😭

‘His bottom lip quivered slightly, and he shook his head. “No, I…I should apologize. I shoulda been more understandin’. You were grievin’, same as me, and I wasn’t letting you do it in your own way. I made you feel like you had to run away, and I’m sorry.”

“Is that what you think? That it was your fault?” Your voice trembled.

He shrugged, sniffling softly. “S’what I always assumed. Thought it had to be somethin’ I did.”

‘The thought of him living with that these last several years made your heart ache. “It was never your fault. It was me. I couldn’t face what happened. I thought…if I left, it would be easier. I could move on faster.”

This part ripped my fucking heart out 😭

I swear I cried while reading the majority of part 1 (and I love it!) Rhett saying he doesn’t blame her for leaving and then them hugging helped to keep me from crying even more though

‘You glanced over at him. He was leaning back in his chair, balancing on the back two legs. 

Until his mother slapped her dish towel against his arm. “Stop leanin’ back in that chair. The legs’ll give out.” 

He corrected his chair right away.’

lmao I can so see Cecelia scolding rhett for doing that!! It made me giggle! 😂😂😂

When you were teenagers, Cecilia was insistent that you did not share a bed if you stayed the night. You’d sleep on the pull-out bed in the living room, far away from Rhett’s bedroom upstairs. It didn’t stop him from sneaking down to talk to you in the middle of the night, though. 

The fact that Rhett used to sneak down to talk to the reader at night is the cutest thing ever!!

Rhett having a life threatening bull riding experience and now he’s afraid to ride bulls and the reader is afraid to chase twisters. It’s angst galore!!

“I’m Zara Marshall. Nice to finally meet you! Rhett told me all about you.” Then she added, “good things, of course!”

Rhett talking about the reader to his friends is adorable!! 🥹🥰

Rhett explaining the process of how they get the nitrogen tanks in the path of the twister was so sexy and for what!!!

When Zara mentions saving lives and rhett can tell what the reader is thinking just by looking at her even after all these years 😭

“I can handle it, darlin’.”

The noise I let out is embarrassing 😳

I love how the reader is the only one able to get him back on a bull (but I’m worried it might end up being a mistake 🥲)

Rhett’s mouth curled into a slight smile. “There she is.”

“What?”

“My storm chasin’ gal. You’re back.”

This part was so so adorable!! 🥰

I’m excited but also nervous to see what happens in the next part!! I get the feeling it’s gonna break my heart again! I can’t wait!! Thank you for tagging me!! 🩷🩷🩷

edit: i thought i posted this already but it went to my drafts 😭

thank you my darling! i'm so glad you enjoyed it. i was reading through this ask this morning and smiling at all your little highlights. thanks for taking the time to send this! i love reading about which parts resonated with different people. a lot of the parts you highlighted here are some of my favorite moments in the story 🤗

[fanfic-recs-01]

Tododeku Fics

This is a list of Todoroki Shouto/Midoriya Izuku fics I like on AO3, if you have any recs for me feel free to send me some!

Updated 5/15/24

The Roundabout Way of Fate by itsmyartfam

~Midoriya Izuku wants to become a hero. Midoriya Izuku is born with a healing quirk. He learns how to save people a different way.~

Checks and Balances by indirectkissesiniceland

~Izuku Midoriya was a competitive cheerleader up until an injury to his hand made tumbling and stunting an impossibility. It's devastating to think that cheer could be out of his life for good—until a pair of enthusiastic classmates show up at Izuku's dorm room with a signup sheet for a new hockey cheerleading club. All that's left to do is learn how exactly hockey works...and try not to think too much about the prodigious freshman right wing, who's just about the most wonderful person Izuku's ever met.~

read between the lines by realfakedoors

~Quirkless as the day he was born, Izuku is determined to become a hero and takes the Yūei entrance exam. With the highest written exam score in over a decade, he is offered admission to General Studies, Class 1-C. The editor-in-chief of the school paper approaches Izuku after finding his misplaced notebook and asks if he would like to to become a staff writer. Urged to turn his Hero Analysis journals into a column, he agrees, with the caveat he can go by a pen name.~

Fallacy by CrzA

~Todoroki Shouto has become very affectionate towards Midoriya Izuku, thinking they are together. Meanwhile, Izuku is having an internal crisis because his best friend isn't really helping his hopeless crush for him go away with all the embraces.~

Please be nice to your server by meiishu

~a self-indulgent restaurant AU where Izuku's the poor waiter stuck with the pickiest customer ever, Enji Todoroki: the well-renown medical hero. Izuku's only now learning he has a son: a very, very pretty one.~

The Joys Of Brotherhood by eddiewrites307 (burnthebodiesandbedonewithit)

~Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou Katsuki are (practically) brothers.

Midoriya Izuku is Quirkless.

Midoriya Izuku starts dating Todoroki Shoto.~

Waking Hours by Graendal

~Izuku squints at the menu, written in calligraphy on a chalkboard that spans the entire wall behind the counter. The surrounding walls are black, too — are they all chalkboard surfaces, or is it just for the aesthetic?

He frowns. There doesn’t seem to be any descriptions of what the drinks actually are. There aren’t even ingredients listed. “Um, what does the vastness of eternity contain?”~

@tshoutoskates and @mizukudances by Graendal 

~Izuku drops his face into his hands. “I thought you were going to edit out all that stuff, Ochako!”

“I’m sorry,” Ochako says, as if that makes any difference now. “I tried? But I couldn’t cut it all out or there’d be nothing left. It’s getting a lot of views, at least?

He groans, sitting back in his chair. Maybe it would have been better to feature a different skater. One that he wouldn’t have felt the need to pause and swoon over every five seconds.

He can’t help it. Todoroki is just that amazing. No one compares.~

Hand to Heart (Right to Left) by Half_SubmergedinPurgatory

~Shouto indulges Midoriya's curiousity about how his Quirk works. Just like everything he does with Midoriya, Quirk study sessions quickly become life-changing.

In other words: Shouto learns how to spite his dad, scare his friends, and how teenagers are supposed to act when they're in love.~

skip a beat by Esplodeyoface

~Todoroki Shouto did not develop crushes. He simply didn't. He didn't have the time, or the energy, or the emotional capacity to entertain the idea of having a crush. His time was much better spent in other ways. Like training, or studying, or sleeping, or finding new and creative ways to completely shun his father's existence. He quite simply didn't develop crushes.~

Faking It by Gallifrey101

~When Endeavor won't stop harassing Todoroki at school and making him uncomfortable with constant phone calls, Midoriya decides to fight fire with fire.

OR Midoriya realizes the best way to piss Endeavor off is to be the boyfriend Endeavor never wanted Todoroki to have.~

Romancing For Dummies: A Book Specifically Addressed To Todoroki Shouto by Julietwasanidiot 

~If this is what Midoriya thinks, that these results come from a genuine effort on Shouto’s part to smooth over the romantic tribulations of his classmates, and not from the awkward fumbling of some hormone-ridden teenage homosexual disaster, Shouto’s going to defend that belief if it kills him.~

Half Hot, Half Cold and Fully Dense by asthmaticbee

~Shouto doesn’t realize Izuku is confessing to him and it takes him two months to realize that, oh, they’ve been dating. Cue his very silent gay panic.~

Thanks for Saving Me by Esselle

~Midoriya Izuku is a university sophomore, a fanboy, quirkless. On the list of things he is not: a hero.

That's why he's more surprised than anyone when he rescues Todoroki Shouto, his favorite pro hero, from a deadly villain attack. His actions fling him into the media spotlight, grabbing the attention of the entire country, including Todoroki himself. But Todoroki actually wants to get to know him past the headlines.~

what are they? by gotthatbrainrot (Todobakudeku)

~Class 2-A is...confused.

Scratch that.

They are absolutely flabbergasted.

And it is all thanks to two childhood...friends? Rivals? Boyfriends? Mortal enemies?~

Bad Timing by OhneHerz

~Shinso is messaging Midoriya (who's back at the dorms because he's sick) during class, when he hooks his laptop up to the screen to present a project to a class. Midoriya's messages come through and the whole class sees him roast Endeavor and subsequently hit on Todoroki.~

Gross by thecacoethicaspect

~5 times Kirishima accidentally made people think he and Todoroki were dating + 1 time he finally realised what was going on~

The Great Sports Festival Seduction by katydid 

~Izuku wins the Sport Festival by (accidentally) seducing Shouto Todoroki.~

Confusion by bortzy

~Todoroki has just figured out he's gay. Kirishima is the only openly gay person he knows, so he goes to him for advice on what to do about his feelings. They end up bonding over their hopeless crushes on Midoriya and Bakugou, but people start to get the wrong idea.~

it's love and i got the proof by halcyonrole

~“He's slightly unhinged,” Shouto admits, “but I like that about him.”Midoriya flips over Bakugou, cackling evilly as he snags one of the grenades off his belt and flings it at an approaching Iida. Then Midoriya picks Bakugou up and lets out a feral scream as he throws him at Jirou. Aizawa sighs heavily but doesn’t stop the training exercise.Shouto cups his hands over his mouth and shouts, “You’re doing amazing, Midoriya!”~

Graffiti On The Walls by 11peach_bunny11

~Or, where Izuku is the vigilante known as Graffiti--named for the occasional political pieces he spray paints on alleyway walls and billboards to call out bad apple heroes along side the giant folders of evidence he likes to leave on the media's doorstep. Nobody has been able to arrest him for years, but what happens when a certain hero catches his eye? Will Izuku be able to keep his feelings in the shame box, or will he be caught with paint on his hands?~

every road you take will always lead you home by pusser

~Midoriya Izuku passes out in his world and wakes up in one where Number One Hero, Deku, has been dead for three years.~

release the dogs of war by IceEckos12 

~Izuku is a dimension hopper who accidentally breaks his arm after a rough jump, leaving him helpless in this strange new world.And then he finds out about the superpowers. Well if he wants to get specific, quirks.If there's one place where a super-powered quasi-immortal technology stealing jerk would be hanging out...~

Something in Between by moonbabyscoot

~Todoroki sighed again and stared out at the city. “I just...I can’t trust someone not to date me for my money, so can I just let someone date me for my money?”Mina snapped her fingers. “Todo, what you want is a sugar baby.”“A what? That sounds gross.”~